


With the Devil at Your Side

by youngmoneymilla



Series: With the Devil at Your Side [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Dark Steve Rogers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Love Triangles, Memory Loss, Multi, Polyamory, Protective Avengers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Reader-Insert, Resurrection, Temporary Character Death, Unrequited Love, Violence, enhanced!reader, some non con/dub con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 06:22:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 63,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16989681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youngmoneymilla/pseuds/youngmoneymilla
Summary: When you are inexplicably returned to the land of the living, you are met with a hurricane of confusion: a past life, past lovers, and a whole lot of darkness. With a growing threat at your heels, will you be able to remember what you lost?





	1. Chapter 1

You’re cold. The room is cold. The kind of cold that turns your bones to glass and brittle. Your back is bare – raw skin against a metal table.  

You realize you can’t breathe. Can’t swallow. Your lungs are shriveled. They ache and sting.

You hear voices.

_“What the fuck?”_

_“Is this some kind of joke?”_

_“It’s Hydra. It can’t be real.”_

_“Should I call them?”_

_“It’ll destroy them.”_

_“Sam - don’t let them see.”_

_“I’ll try and stall.”_

_“It’s too late, they’re almost here.”_

Then a flip switches – a jolt fills your lungs and breaks you open and it is as if fire has engulfed your belly.

You shoot upwards – gasping. Wet, monsoon gulps that spill from your lungs and your chest hurts but, you can breathe.

“Jesus Christ!” A male voice shrieks from next to you.

It startles you so badly; you nearly fall off the metal table you’re on. A pair of gentle, manicured fingers steady your arm and you look up into the distressed, red-rimmed eyes of a woman with bright scarlet hair. She looks sad – distraught.

You twist your head to catch the owner of the voice that frightened you. It’s a dark-haired man with a horrified expression. But, he’s not a man because he’s covered in metal. Covered in red-gold.

“Tony! Calm down,” the red-head orders quietly. “You scared her.”

“I’m sorry but, I wasn’t expecting to be dealing with the Walking Dead,” the man (Tony) hisses. He looks at you again and averts his eyes.

_Dead?_   _Who died?_

You search the room. It is stark and sterile: weathered machines, a half full IV bag with some sort of yellowing liquid, scattered paper. There is a smell of rot.

You forget the cold until your teeth start to chatter. You look down only to realize that you are very much naked. There is a sallow tint to your skin – a greenish, macabre glow that steadily seems to be disappearing with each breath you take.

The red-head notices you shiver and immediately pulls a thin cotton hospital gown from some unknown location. She wordlessly ties it around you – offering a sad smile.

You stare at her blankly.

“Guys – we’ve got incoming,” a dark man announces from the door – a pair of goggles perched on his head. “They know we found something.”

The dark man’s gaze falls on you and his eyes – warm and brown – widen so comically they look as though they may fall out of his head.

“It’s awake? That thing was alive?” he practically screeches.

“She! She’s awake, Sam!” The red head snarls, throat thick with emotion, and wraps a protective arm around you. You realize she’s crying.

The echo of heavy stomping comes from outside the doorway. Your ears vibrate with the force of it.

“Oh fuck me, man. This is going to be bad,” the man named Sam says anxiously.

Before Natasha can respond, two hulking figures stride into the room.

“What was all the commotion on the – “

A man with long dark hair begins to speak before the words die in his throat. You look up at them and stare into two sets of blue eyes: one deep and dark with stretches of green, the other smoky, pearlescent ice.

There’s something there. Something intangible –the briefest moment of Déjà vu before it falls away.

Their expressions stun you because they look  _shattered_  – their faces fine prisms of glass that have been pierced and splintered.

The blonde falls to his knees, his mouth open. You can see him trembling from your perch. He speaks a name you’ve never heard of, he repeats it and you wonder if he’s referring to you.

The brunette steps forward and reaches for you and you notice the silver glint of his skin. A robot arm. You shrink back and a broken, wrecked sound spills from somewhere deep within his chest.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Nat says softly, rubbing at your arms. “We’re friends.”

“Are we?” Tony asks quietly from the corner of the room. His eyes are still distant, unable to meet yours. “We don’t know what this is?”

“Where’d you find her?” The brunette murmurs. He’s moved to stand against the wall, his eyes glossy and hands tightly crossed in front of him. Obviously hurt.

“Here. Just here. We killed the guards at the door but, she was alone,” Nat tells them.

“Nat – that’s not her. It’s impossible,” Tony mutters. He closes his eyes and turns from you completely.

“He has a point, Natasha,” the blonde man finally speaks – his voice is weak, weaker than the voice you imagined a man like him having. The lines of his cheekbones and jaw stand out in the shadows. Sam helps him up from the ground. “It can’t possibly be  _her.”_

“Are you fucking kidding me, Rogers?” Nat’s voice is sharp – too loud.

“Steve?” The brunette touches his arm before he jerks it away.

“It’s not fucking her, Bucky,” he growls.

“But, it might be,” the man (Bucky) whispers hopefully.

“This is HYDRA,” Steve spits. “It has to be. The sickest joke they’ve ever played.”

“You just don’t want to believe it,” Nat snaps and Steve rounds on her so quickly, you nearly spill off the side of the table. His face is a mask of fury – his eyes glittering in the green light of the room.

The five of them descend into an explosive argument: their words bounce off each other – loud and violent and it makes your ears hurt. You press your palms against your ears to quiet the sound.

You don’t like this. You don’t like that they are speaking about you in front of you. You don’t like this continuous discussion about who “her/she” is.  Your mouth tastes peculiarly like metal and the room feels like its spinning. The lights are garish. Your eyelids ache and your chests still hurts from the deep, full breaths your body seems to want to take.

“It is her,” a deep, booming voice sounds from the doorway. A tall, broad-shouldered man with long, gold hair enters the room. His eyes are boring into yours – the look on his face is curious wonder, a quivering smile on his lips. He approaches you slowly – his hands held out in a gesture of submission.

_Do you look like a wild animal to them?_

“How can you tell, Thor?” Sam calls, suspicious, from this spot in the corner.

“Because I can sense it – we were one in the same. I’ve had enough practice with Loki to know that this is not a trick,” he explains softly. He turns to you again. “Right, little one? It really is you?”

You gaze at him – confused, anxious, and thoroughly unmoored from all sense. 

He frowns.

“Have any of you fools actually tried to speak to her?” he sputters.

“Do you know me, Y/N?” Nat asks tenderly, gently grasping your hand and placing it carefully in hers. Her palms are clammy. “Do you know us?”

The room, the faces, the expressions, and sounds are melting into one furious haze of red. 

_No, no i don’t know you. I don’t._

Your stomach constricts, folding in on itself and it feels as if acid is churning in your belly. Your lungs are closing down again. The room feels dangerously hot.

Nat repeats the name and you look up at her. 

Her face clears, a hopeful smile curling her lips.

“Who’s Y/N?” you croak before your eyes roll back in your head and the world turns black.


	2. Chapter 2

_Warmth._

_Balmy air and smooth heat against your sides. Cocooned between two softly breathing bodies. You can taste the dawn before you even open your eyes. The wash of rose-gold against the thin skin of your lids. The faint warble of birds and the steady hum of the air conditioning._

_You’re naked above the waist. Nothing but, cotton shorts beneath a pillow-soft comforter. On your side, with your hands beneath your cheek, breasts pressed together._

_A strong hand rests on your hip, another around your waist. A pair of lips slide along your throat – soft as velvet. A cheeky bit of tongue pokes out and dips against the pulse point._

_“Are you awake?” A husky voice mumbles against your ear._

_“Of course, she is. She’s just playing hard to get.” Another voice above you, the rough scrape of stubble against your forehead. You mewl into his mouth as full lips open over yours._

_“There’s our girl,” The voice behind you breathes, draws patterns along your thighs with his fingertips._

_“We have a meeting in ten,” you hum, molding yourself against these two bodies. They smell like home – like pink pepper, tobacco, and rum. Spicy and woody. Rich._

_“We can be a little late,” the voice in front of you murmurs, presses soft lips air against your forehead and nose, the apples of your cheeks. He bends down to blow against your nipple and it tightens in response._

_“But, you’re leading it,” you remind him, feeling hidden fingers move beneath your shorts._

_You try and stifle the moan that’s in the middle of your throat. You have things to do._

_“Then, we can be as late as we want,_ _printsessa,” he teases low and feral as he pulls you and the other body against your back to him._

**Everything changes.**

_The air warps. You open your eyes – wind stinging their surface. Barren branches, crackling trees._

_And snow. Endless snow. There’s ice in your hair, ice in your lashes. You can’t swallow._

_You know you should be cold but, you’re burning._

_You’re running, blood on your hands – flaps of skin where your knuckles should be. You stumble and fall into a snow bank, ice cracks on your knees. You’re so tired. You’ve never been this weak before. The black-blasted trees collapse around you and then you’re in an empty room._

_The burning under your skin is worse now._

_Your stomach hurts, your intestines feel like they’re coiling – sharp shooting pain is ravaging your system. You cling to the ground – fingertips pressed desperately into concrete to quell the nauseas. A wave of sick comes up and sprays out of your mouth – splashing on the ground. It’s flecked in dark, rust red. You roll onto your back – the fog of your breath drifts from your lips. Phantom smoke from the heat of your mouth in this barren cavern. The cold ground soothes your hot skin._

_Terror constricts your throat. Horrific terror that mangles and throttles. But, why? Have you ever been this scared before?_

_It’s because you’re dying and you know it. And you’re alone. You’re alone and you want to go home._

_But, where’s home? Where is home? Where is home?_

_And why haven’t they come for you?_

_The door slams open and you’re too exhausted to sit up. You know who’s there already. An amused, silk-smooth voice calls to you._

_“Well, there you are, darling!” He singsongs. “You’ve made such a mess, my bad girl.”_

* * *

“No!” you gasp as you shoot up.

Two heavy hands grasp your shoulders to steady you.

“Hey…hey, you’re alright,” a soft voice says.

You glance up and see the same man from before with the long, gold hair. His warm eyes shimmer under fluorescent lighting – crinkling at their corners as he smiles.

Another hand clutches your palm, the nimble fingers smooth and creamy. You look over to see the familiar redhead – Natasha. She smiles at you – a line of perfect white teeth against full petal lips. Her dark hair is pulled up in a ponytail – not a lock out of place against the shape of her skull.

“I’m s-sorry,” you rasp – your throat dry as old twigs. You run your swollen tongue over your lips and feel bits of dead skin.

“No need to apologize.” Natasha says quickly, squeezing your hand. “Thor get her water.”

Thor rushes to the sink.

This Natasha is awfully touchy for a stranger. You get the impression this is out of character for her.

The room is a dramatic contrast from where you had originally woken up. You’re in a stark, white hospital bed. An IV is dripping next to you. The familiar itch of a needle in your arm. A machine monitoring your heart, beats idly behind your head.

You smell chemicals and rubbing alcohol. Sterile clean cotton. Your nose wrinkles.

Thor returns balancing five paper cups in his arms. It’s a near comical site - the paper cups tiny in his massive hands. He offers you one with a pink straw and places the others on the side table.  You offer him a smile in thanks before taking a sip. The water soothes the burn in your throat – floods your chest and you’re able to breathe a little easier. You glance down at yourself and notice you’ve been wrapped in a fluffy, pale pink robe.

Who changed you?

You look up at Thor’s strikingly handsome face and frown. _Hopefully not him_.

“I dressed you if that’s what you’re wondering,” Natasha grins, eyeing your worried expression

“Where am I?” you murmur, fingering the paper cup and bending the rim. A shadow briefly passes over Natasha’s face – maybe, she’d thought you remember.

“Upstate New York,” she replies swiftly. “The Avengers Compound.”

“Home!” Thor adds loudly as his eyes search yours.

“Oh?” You twist the cup a little more until it crumples in your hands. “What are the Avengers?”

 Natasha and Thor share an anxious look before turning back to you.

“Nothing you need to worry about right now,” she says carefully.

“What happened?”

“You passed out back in that Hydra facility. We got you on the jet and took you back. You were out cold the whole time,” Natasha explains. “We were worried you’d never wake up.”

“How long was I out?”

“Four days give or take,” Thor replies, handing you another cup of water.

Your eyes widen and as you chug the next cup. _Four fucking days_?

“Where was the facility?” you query – still able to taste the sour air of the room you originally woke up in.

“You mean you don’t know?” Thor asks perplexed.

“No, I don’t-I don’t really remember,” you confess. “Everything is jumbled.”

He sighs softly and crosses his arms over his chest. He’s in a plan white shirt and dark blue sweats – a radical difference from the sleek black and red armor you first saw him in.

“Bergen,” he discloses. “You were in Bergen. We received a transmission about an active Hydra facility and we went there with the intention of destroying it as we Avengers are wont to do. We did not think-well, you were the last thing we expected to find.”

You take a heavy breath; grip your knees over the cotton blanket.

_Norway? Hydra?_

You press your fingertips to your eyelids, the pressure almost painful. You swallow deep, pull in lungfuls of that lemony air that reeks of hydrogen peroxide.

“Sorry, I know that’s a lot,” Natasha sympathizes. She’s gripping the steel bar of your bed, her eyes the color of viper scales. “Let’s start with the basics. Do you know your name?”

You sigh and sit back against the pillows of your hospital bed. Your body aches – feels like you’ve been dragged through a field of brambles.

 _Or fields of ice_.

 You concentrate on her question – wrack your brain for any clue regarding your name. You play with sounds, consonants. It hurts to think.

_Charred brick, scorched dirt, toppled trunks. So much forest. Sulfur in your belly._

There’s nothing. Your mind feels as if it is consumed by cloud cover, nothing but shadows and figments of images. Everything’s smoke.

You bite your lip and stare down at your hands. “I don’t know.”

Thor sits on your bed and it creaks beneath his weight. Natasha shoots him a cautious look and arches a coiffed brow.

“Well, I am Thor Odinson,” he announces, gripping your hand in his. “And this is Natasha Romanova.”

“Nat,” she corrects him.

“Thor, Nat,” you repeat softly – rolling the syllables over your tongue.

They both look pleased with you as if you saying their names held some meaning.

“Shouldn’t you two get some sleep? She hasn’t woken in da – oh, oh hi.”

A shorter man with dark hair and glasses steps into the room. He’s decked out in a white lab coat, a pad of papers in his hands.  His eyes widen considerably when they take you in.

“Holy shit!”

“Calm down, Banner!” Thor scolds.

He edges over to you carefully, a bewildered expression on his face.

“I mean she certainly looked like her asleep but, awake? The resemblance –shit, it’s like seeing a ghost,” he stutters.

“It _is her_ , Banner,” Thor reminds him, his tone a tad aggressive.

“Yes, yes – we’ll do all the tests,” the man assures him, though he sounds doubtful.

“This is Bruce, by the way,” Nat interjects.

“Oh, right! Sorry – I forget,” he mumbles, studying your face.

“Mind if I take your vitals? Also, need to get some blood, too,” he continues.

You shrug – still, slightly annoyed that there seems to be a large elephant in the room that they aren’t bringing up.

Who the fuck is _her_?

As Bruce buzzes around you, Nat’s gaze is locked on your face– the pupils slightly misty. Her expression dazed.

“Are you okay?” you ask – the weight of her stare beginning to overwhelm you.

She jumps  - startled.

“Sorry, I was thinking.” She perches herself on your bed, mindful of your legs. “By the way, we’re going to get you moved to another room soon. So you’re more comfortable.”

Bruce looks at her confused. “Did Tony appr-“

“Shut up, Bruce,” Nat interrupts through gritted teeth.

An uncomfortable silence follow. Thor is idly playing with your hand, calloused fingertips abrading the tender flesh of your skin. You politely pull it away and he offers you an apologetic look. _Strange._

“Where are the others?” you ask curiously.

Thor frowns.

“Tony has been drinking rather heavily ever since we returned from Norway. I believe he’s currently passed out in the common room.”

“And the other guys?”

You  think of the two men who had looked so utterly shattered to see you. They had been beautiful– wood smoke and white gold. Cheek bones and jawlines and full lips. Their eyes had startled you – tugged at something inside.  You inexplicably longed to see them.

“You mean Steve? Bucky?” Natasha presses.

“Yes, I think so,” you reply. “One had a silver arm.”

The three of them glance at each other, shift from one foot to the next. Thor’s eyebrows nearly hit the top of his forehead.

“I believe they’re training,” Thor says slowly. “I have not seen much of them since we returned.”

You feel a twinge of disappoint but, brush it off. You barely know them.

“How is she health wise?” Nat implores, eyeing the notes Bruce is taking.

“She’s fine. Better than fine,” Bruce observes. “Top of her game, really.”

He smiles at you. “I’m going to take some blood, now. That okay?”

You nod slowly, offering your arm.

“It’s really amazing to see you,” he says softly. You can’t help but return his smile – his affection palpable.

Bruce lifts your arm and you feel the sharp sting of a needle. Your eyes shoot down as you watch the blood begin to leak out of you. There’s something familiar about this.

The red.

You notice a scalpel, silver – no, rusted on the table behind his head. The scalpel that they’ll use on you. You turn your head and see a guard at the door. Why is there a guard in here? A man in black, his face hell bent and brow harrowing, grin curled up like a skeleton. His body like a bull.

You look at Bruce and his face changes. It morphs, darkens, splits open. The distant chuckle of that man rings in your ears. And it’s _his face_ now: the smooth golden skin, shadowed ridge of cheekbones and eyes like the sea. Those rose-pink lips roll over big white teeth and he is devouring you right then – drinking you down as he hurts you again.

_You remember this face. This man you remember._

_No, no what was his name?_

_He smelled like clove oil and chestnut – the odd slip of vanilla._

_But, what did they call him?_

_The Duke. The Duke. The Duke._

“How much more can you take, darlin?” he drawls, licks those full lips before injecting you again.

You scream.

You rip the needle out of your arm and a spurt of blood hits the Duke on the cheek. You push him away – hard enough that he goes flying into the glass. You listen to it shatter – you hope you hurt him. Hope it took this time.

“What are you doing?” A nurse grips your arms, her eyes yellow. The whites are foggy and red. A sinister grin breaks her mouth apart and you wrench your arm out of her grip.

“Please let me go,” you sob.

You’re out the doorway and flying – blood streaming down your arm as you search for an exit. Any exit.

_You have to go home. But, where is home? What is home?_

Your heart freezes in your chest, the breath struggling to fall from your lips. You’re going to pass out if you aren’t careful. Steady yourself.  Breathe. Count…1…2…3

But, everything is red - charred. The air is corrupt. The slick, oil-black hallways wrap around endlessly. This place is digesting you. There’s nothing but, scorched earth here. Nothing but, hell.

Conversation layers. Whispered screams. The clanging din of chains down the corridor.

You trip over something and your knee slams into a marble table. You look up and see windows – see the outside and trees. _But, why are there windows? There were never windows in this wretched place._

“Eliza!” A voice yells from behind you. You spin around and a man with a spiky haircut is rushing towards you – his smile bright. He stares at you in awe – like you’re a treasure.

He wants you. He wants you because you’re a prize for them because they need you.  He wants you because the Duke needs you.

_No..no..no_

_You can’t go back there, again. Not again._

He catches sight of your arm, frowns deeply. “What happened?”

He rushes towards you and grips your biceps to pull you up, moves his arms around you.

A voice echoes from down the hall.

“Clint – don’t!”

The world stops for a moment. The record scratches.

Pink silky energy rips out of your hands and blasts the man away sending him crashing into a wall. The plaster crumbles along with him as he lands with a heavy thud.  The energy ripples through your skin, massages your lungs – gloves the entirety of your body in a protective mold.

You can breathe again as the power thrums in your stomach. The steady beat of something organic and inhuman pounding within your core. Your eyes slightly roll back before you’re able to focus again, your teeth click in your mouth.

You stare down at your hands, watch the curls of pink slide around your fingers and disappear. It feels familiar – feels like the tender caress of a loved one sliding into your palm.

You glance up – horrified as the world suddenly changes back. The black walls of before are now crisp, white and decorated with artwork. There are rugs and suede chairs and expansive bay windows. Gone are the bars and chains and screaming.

The body on the couch next to you sits up so suddenly, you stumble backwards. You recognize him as the man from the other day. Tony. His deep, ochre eyes study you with disbelief, the hint of a smile curling his lips.

Another man jogs into the room. _Sam_.

“Holy shit!” He exclaims – taking in the room’s destruction. He rushes to the man, Clint, who is struggling to pull himself up. There’s no anger in Clint’s eyes when he looks at you. Only excitement sparkling in his expression despite the fact that blood is trickling down from a cut on his forehead. You would giggle at the picture he makes if you weren’t so sick to your stomach.

It’s too much. You collapse onto the marble coffee table behind you. Feel the cold seep into the backs of your thighs. You press your fingers to your temples. Concentrate on your breathing. A wave of dizziness washes over you and you swallow it down.

“What was that?” you mutter to yourself.  

You look up to see numerous eyes traveling all over you – running all over your body as if they could leave fingerprints.

And then you catch the gazes of two specific sets of eyes. Steve and Bucky.

Their faces are ashen – brows furrowed as if trying to digest what they’ve just seen. They stand side by side – huge with their wide shoulders and narrow waists. They absorb the areas around them. You recognize something in Steve, recognize the differing shades and similarities with Bucky caught on the surface of his skin. Fair where Bucky is dark. Hot where Bucky is cool; the two of them lean and sharp like knives.

Your heart jumps in your chest.

Natasha smirks from behind them, arms crossed tightly in front of her chest and hip cocked to the side. She looks extremely pleased with the show you’ve just put on.

“I fucking told you,” she gloats.

Steve looks back at her, his eyes softening momentarily before the wall slams shut again. His eyes now chips of ice. He opens his mouth but, nothing comes out. There is a palpable anger there, something razor-edged beneath his expression. Bucky turns away from you to rest his head against the wall, his lips tugged into a deep frown.

Clint coughs loudly, smacking his chest to clear his airways. He looks at you with prideful glee.

“I think that little power move right there just confirmed what we all wanted to know,” he wheezes.

Thor appears out of nowhere, slapping Clint on the back which sends him sprawling to the ground once again. “I’d like to point out how I’m always right about these things.”

“How’s Bruce?” Sam interjects.

“Not green,” Nat shrugs.

The sudden image of you throwing Bruce into a glass wall flashes before you.

But, it wasn’t Bruce – it was _him_. The scattered pieces of your memory flood your head – you can’t trust your own mind.

“I didn’t mean-“you confess.

“It’s okay!” Nat interrupts. “We just lost you a little back there.”

Tony gets up from the couch to approach you slowly. He lowers himself to his knees, gripping your hand in his. Despite, the cloying scent of liquor present on his tongue, he looks very much sober. He tilts your chin to look up at him, touches your face. He runs his thumb along your jaw, sweeping the curve of your cheekbone. His eyes bleed into yours, hold you there. It unnerves you.

“Oh yeah,” Tony grins. “It’s either a perfect copy or it’s our girl.”

Before you can ask him what he means, he envelopes you in a hug. Your nose meets the warm corner where his skin meets his neck. The curls of his hair tickle your nose. It’s oddly comforting and your heart clenches a bit.

“You even smell like her.” Tony mumbles. “Sorry is that weird?”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Steve hisses from across the room. Tony pulls away from you to glare at him.

“What the fuck, Cap?” Tony curses. “Can’t you be a little optimistic? All signs point to the fact that she is yo-“

“She died a long time ago,” Bucky murmurs quietly. “We were there.”

“Nat and I were there, too,” Sam argues. “And we are firmly in camp “Team Alive”.”

“No you weren’t,” Bucky growls. “You didn’t watch her die.”

“I’m sorry but, in a world where fucking aliens and magic exist, how can you deny that this is a possibility?” Nat challenges.

Bucky looks at you again before slamming his eyes shut. He looks sick to his stomach as if the very image of your face has poisoned him.

“I-I can’t do this,” Steve croaks suddenly, choking on his words. He takes one last look at you before fleeing the room. Heavy boots echo on the floor as they all stare after him.

Again, the confusion threatens to drown you. There are too many names and faces and unsaid things. You grip Tony's arm in a vice. 

“Can someone please tell me who I’m supposed to be exactly?” 


	3. Chapter 3

You run your fingertips over the glass surface of the framed photograph. The silver of the frame glints in the afternoon sun as you hold it up against the window. When Natasha handed you the picture, your jaw had dropped. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled. The photo had rocked you down to your core because the subject of the photo, simply put, was  _you._

Or perhaps what you had been or what you were..are?

You don’t know anymore.

“Eerie, right?” Natasha observes from behind your shoulder. You nod silently before turning back to the picture.

You’re smiling brilliantly – light as air. Your arm is swung over Sam’s shoulders, your other hand laced in Steve’s. Steve is staring down at you with something akin to admiration – love? The sharp chisel of his jaw, the aquiline nose and full lips spread into a grin. He is devastatingly handsome and your chest clenches a little at the way he looks at you. You’re dressed in jeans and a leather jacket. Berry red against a white cotton t-shirt. Black winged eyeliner and hoop earrings. Lipstick the color of rose petals. Even in a photograph, there is a sultry confidence in the way your eyes shimmer and mouth curls.

There’s a sharp beauty to this strange version of yourself– something soft and strong all at the same time. A flower wrapped in thorns.

“This was back in D.C. after the fall of SHIELD,” Nat murmurs. “Sam had just joined the team.”

“And I had a fat crush on you,” Sam announces from his seat on the living room couch. “Little did I know that you only had eyes for –“

“Sam!” Nat interrupts, sending a warning glare across the room. “Let’s not make this more complicated than it needs to be right now.”

“Plus, you have a crush on every female you meet,” Clint points out, pressing an ice pack to the rising bump on his forehead. “Not exactly the stuff of unrequited romance.”

Sam scoffs before waggling his eyebrows at you causing a giggle to bubble up from your throat.

It tastes strange in your mouth. The sound rolls across your tongue and carries out melodic and light. A warmth rises in your belly. The oddest sense that laughing with Sam and Clint feels achingly familiar.

“So, I’ve been with you guys for a while then?” you ask.

“You’ve been on the team since the beginning,” Tony announces, clapping his hands together. “One of the founding members of the Avengers.”

“Oh,” you murmur.

It feels as if the breath yanked from your body. It’s a lot. All of it. You’ve shared an entire lifetime with these people and yet you can barely remember their names. You don’t even understand why Steve and Bucky seem to despise you simply for existing.

You recall the hazy eyed wonder with which Steve had looked at you in the picture with Sam. Something had obviously changed his opinion and you weren’t sure if it was just the fact that you were essentially the walking dead. You’d have to ask Natasha at some point.

And then there was the fact that you had powers. Your fingers convulse agitatedly, an aftershock of energy from funneling too much kinetic power through your body when you defended yourself. Well, you didn’t defend yourself – your body did.

Using your powers had, strangely enough, felt like coming home.

Tony sidles up to you, wrapping a tentative arm around your shoulders. “I know this all seems foreign, kid, but, it’s true. We all go way back.”

“For _some_  people – you go way, way back,” Sam adds.

“That’s not for us to discuss,” Nat snaps and Sam looks thoroughly cowed.

You nod, swallowing down the anxiety that threatens to spill out of you.

The silence is broken by a shriek in the doorway.

It startles you so terribly you nearly drop the picture in your hands. A girl dressed in a long red coat and leather pants is flying across the room. Flying towards you, you realize, before it’s too late.

She nearly rocks you into the window with the force of her embrace. Her cheek is pressed against your own and you feel the wet glide of tears against your skin. 

“Oh my god,” she sobs. “You’re here.”

She pulls back to look at you. Her smile is infectious as she studies your face. “Nat called while Vis and I were on a mission. I just couldn’t believe it until I saw you with my own eyes.”

She stops suddenly before breaking into another flood of tears and crushing you to her.

You look over her shoulder and a man with teal and magenta skin is smiling politely at you. His golden cape billows gently beneath the air conditioning.

“Welcome back,” he says serenely. “We have all missed you terribly.”

You gape at the multi-colored man before glancing at Tony from behind the girl’s thick hair.

“What the fuck?”

* * *

“I feel bad,” you mutter as Nat leads you down another endless hallway as she leads you to your room.

“What for?”

“Wanda seemed really hurt that I didn’t know her name.”

The girl had practically collapsed into a sobbing wreck. “Hurt” seemed like an understatement.

“Oh, she’ll be fine. She’s just overwhelmed,” she replies back lightly.

“I take it we were all very close,” you guess.

“Yes,” Natasha murmurs. “We were.”

She doesn’t seem to want to elaborate so, you leave it.

“This place is massive,” you observe taking in the sleek silver lines of the hallway. The entire building is clean lines, metal and glass. Geometric shapes and sharp corners.

Walls of windows overlook the massive lake the compound is built over. There are so many windows that the rooms nearly overflow with daylight. The afternoon sun warms your skin and you long to get some fresh air.

Nat stops at a doorway and you nearly run into her. She hesitates.

“What is it?” You touch her arm and she jumps slightly before giving you an apologetic look.

“Sorry, I just haven’t been down here in a while.”

You take in her haunted look, the grey leeching into the green of her iris. The slight tremble in her fingertips at the doorknob.

“Wait – was this  _my_ room?” you ask, alarmed.

You aren’t entirely sold on sleeping in a dead girl’s room. Even if that dead girl is you.

“Yes, it’s her – your room,” she confesses. “The guest rooms are on the opposite end of the compound. I figured you’d rather be closer to us.”

You wrap your arms around yourself. Everything tastes off – alien. Maybe, sleeping in this room would jog a memory- unlatch something in the fog that is your mind.

“Okay,” you relent, motioning for Nat to open the door.

She grins and guides you inside. It’s apparent that no one has been in here for quite a while. The air is dusty and thick.

“Give me a sec,” she says before walking across the room and tugging open the heavy curtains.

Light floods the space instantly. The entire wall is made of glass and your heart stops in your throat at the sight. The view is gorgeous: emerald lawn, sun dappled lake, the distant shadow of mountains beneath gauzy clouds.

You turn around to take in the rest of the room. It’s unbelievably spacious and the style is 60′s modern. Feminine and Bright. White walls and White bedding. A teal velvet headboard and pillows scattered in various bright colors: coral, robin’s egg, fuchsia. A royal blue couch made of suede sits at the center of the room facing a wall with a huge television. In the corner of the room is a white desk with gold accents. Blue and white China jars decorate its surface.

But, what really catches your eye are the towering shelves of books that flank the television. Multi-colored spines are haphazardly piled on clean white shelving. Novels are scattered across the plexiglass coffee table in front of the couch. Joan Didion’s “The Year of Magical Thinking” is resting on the lounge chair that faces the window.

“Big reader, huh?” you venture, picking up A Collection of Poems by Edna St. Vincent Millay that’s on your bedside table.

“Oh voracious,” Nat quips. “Big Stephen King fan.”

“No kidding,” you murmur as you place the book back down. "It doesn't look like this room was packed away at all."

Natasha's nods, her voice soft. "The boys - er we - just couldn't seem to move any of your things. Nothing was touched after you - after we lost you."

"After I died you mean?," you quip before walking across the room to study the art that frames the walls.

You narrow your eyes and take a closer look. The faint signature on the corner of the piece is suddenly glaringly real. Your head shoots backward. “Is that a Titian?”

Natasha smiles. “There’s a Monet in your bathroom, too.”

Your jaw drops.

“Was I thief or something?”

She laughs loud and full, it makes her face light up beautifully. “No, not at all.”

You glare at her. “Care to enlighten me, then?”

“I would if I could but, Bruce said it might be best for you to remember in your own time. I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“I’m already pretty fucking overwhelmed,” you sigh as you fall onto the bed and press your face into your hands. The duvet smells suspiciously like dust and you make a note to ask Nat where you can do laundry.

The bed dips next to you and you feel a hand gingerly run across your back.

“Everything will be fine,” she says gently. “You’re safe now.”

You glance up at her. “Am I?”

She looks startled for a second before her face relaxes. “This is the safest place you could ever be.”

“Then how did I die before?” you ask bluntly.

That truly rocks her and her hand fidgets on your back. “A lot of mistakes were made,” she utters. “But, that won’t happen again. Ever.”

You turn away from her, uncomfortable at her sad expression. Uncomfortable that you don’t know the ending of a story you starred in.

You ease the tension by changing the subject.

“Are you next door, at least?” 

“Um, no – no, I’m just two hallways down,” she replies.

Your head twists back to hers and you eye her nervous expression.

“Well, then who is next door? I saw that I’m in between two rooms.”

“I mean this was your room so, it made sense to put you here,” Nat offers quickly.

You pray it’s not the two people who seem to  _hate_  having you here. The two people who can’t even stand being in the same room as you.

“Don’t tell me –“

“Steve and Bucky.”

“Fuck.”

* * *

“So, what are you telling me exactly?” Steve asks, crossing his arms over his chest and squaring his feet. 

A cramp rips through his stomach and he grits his teeth. The panic – the anxiety – has barely subsided. He feels as if he’s in a living nightmare.

Bruce slides his glasses down his nose and gives Steve a cautious look as if he’s unsure how he should approach this. Steve doesn’t blame him, he’s aware that he probably looks mildly terrifying. Bordering on animalistic.

He hasn’t slept since they brought  _you_ back.

“I’m telling you that that girl in there is  _her_ ,” Bruce states.

Bucky rakes his hair back – his face paling beneath the unforgiving laboratory lights. “How can you be sure?”

“We still had plenty of her DNA samples back before – you know –“

“Her death,” Steve murmurs, holding himself a little more tightly.

“Yes,” Bruce continues. “I compared everything: hair, blood, saliva – even birthmarks. It’s her.”

Something akin to a choked groan sounds from Bucky and he turns away quickly to lean his head against the office wall. Steve’s heart is pounding so hard he thinks it might shatter right then. Black spots appear before his eyes and he blinks them away.

Bucky twists back to them, eyes red.

“But, she doesn’t remember us,” he croaks. “How can it be her?”

“I’m sure that the trauma of being brought back to life has something to do with that,” Bruce says. “The mind is a powerful thing and it is likely that it’s protecting her from remembering all that happened.”

Steve thinks back to your death and a violent shudder wracks through his torso.

_His hands are gripping your face. Blood smeared on your lips. He cradles you against him, holding you down as your body convulses against his._

_They had found you. Finally, they had found you. This couldn’t be it._

_“Stay with me, baby,” he breathes into your mouth. “C’mon.”_

_“It hurts, Steve,” you wail. “Make it stop.”_

_“I will,” he promises. “I will.”_

_He hears Bucky frantically calling Natasha over his coms – then Thor then Tony – then anyone who can possibly do anything._

_Your hands slip on the straps of his suit. Bruises mar the tender skin of your chest and forehead. The bright red ridge of an unhealed wound is wrapped around your throat. Fury coils hot in Steve’s stomach and he presses his lips to your cheek._

_“We came to rescue you, sweetheart. You’re safe now.”_

_Not like this. Not like this. He wouldn’t lose you now._

He glances up at Bruce who is observing him with quiet pity.

“Yes,” Steve admits weakly, the threat of tears burning at the backs of his eyes. He fights them back, his nails cutting into the palm of his hand. He no longer cries over you. He promised himself he wouldn’t ever again. “She should never remember that.”

“Do you think it’s permanent?”  Bucky implores. “The memory loss?”

“No, I don’t think it is,” Bruce replies. “It’s likely that the longer she is here the more she will remember. At least, that’s my guess.”

He swallows thickly before motioning to Bruce’s desk. “What’s all this then?”

Diagrams of DNA helixes, genomes and pages of chemical equations are scattered across the surface of his desk. Bruce’s face reddens a little at his apparent fervor at your resurrection.

“I’m trying to figure out how she possibly could have come back?” he admits. “You mentioned there weren’t any papers, machines, anything around her when you found her?”

“Nothing,” Bucky replies. “Place was deserted.”

“Well, I’m becoming more and more inclined to believe that her resurrection wasn’t a product of science,” Bruce explains. “Meaning there is only one other avenue with which this happened.”

“And that is?” Steve sighs, suddenly desperately exhausted.

Bruce frowns, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair.

“Magic.”

* * *

“I think we should go speak with her,” Bucky urges as he follows Steve back to his room. Their heavy boots echo down the hall. Steve is nearly jogging.

Bucky guesses that he’s trying to avoid you. The two of them had been going to great lengths to do it the past few weeks. Steve had nearly ripped Nat’s head off when she mentioned that she had moved you back into  _her_ old room.

“Be my guest,” Steve replies acidly. He wants to sleep this all away – the gnawing in his stomach is at a crescendo. “I’m not talking to her.”

Suddenly, Steve is yanked backwards. His bicep in Bucky’s metal grip.

“What the fuck?” Steve exclaims, pulling his arm from Bucky.

“What is wrong with you?” he hisses. “Our girl is back – alive. Everything we ever wanted can be ours again and you’re acting like a total dick.”

“We don’t know if she’s our girl,” Steve replies quietly.

Bucky staggers backward as if Steve has shot him point blank. His eyes widen and mouth falls open. “You still don’t believe it’s her,” he murmurs. “Even after what Bruce said?”

Steve sighs, presses the heels of his hands to his eyes before gripping his hair in tight fistfuls.

“I don’t know what to believe, Bucky,” he stammers tiredly. “We buried her. Maybe, it’s a clone – maybe, it’s a trick. Hydra seems to enjoy fucking us where it hurts. They did it once before with her and they’d do it again.”

“First of all,  _she_ –  _she_ is a clone. Not  _it_ ,” Bucky growls. “And it’s her. I know you felt it like I did. That tug beneath your skin, that heat. I’ve only ever felt it for her and I felt it again when we saw her at the facility.”

Steve shrugs. “Maybe, it was just because it’s wearing her face.”

Bucky scoffs, disgusted. “Whatever, punk. I love you but, I’m really starting to want to punch your stubborn fucking face in right now.”

Steve smiles sadly. “I want it to be her. I do. I just – I just can’t fully believe it. At least, not right now.”

“Well, how can she prove it’s her if you keep avoiding her?”

“I don’t know, Bucky.”

“I think you’re in a lot of denial, Rogers,” Bucky says sharply. “Afraid we’ll lose her again?”

Steve’s head shoots up at that. In a flash, he fists his hands into Bucky’s shirt and slams him into the wall. It reverberates with the force of it and Bucky tastes blood in the back of his mouth.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten what they did,” Steve snarls. “I died the day they took her. I haven’t been alive since.”

Bucky swipes his thumb across his lips, tastes the rust from his bitten tongue.

He smirks.

“You felt pretty alive there, Steve.”

He releases him and steps backward. “You remember what  _we did_ after they killed her, don’t you? We took care of them all. There was nothing left, after that.”

“How could I forget?” Bucky replies bitterly. “Felt good, though.”

“And this is them seeking revenge,” Steve sneers. “If one head is cut off, two more take its place and all that bull shit.

“Then we’ll cut off those heads, too,” Bucky quips.

Steve shakes his head.

“We never told the team what we did,” he says softly. “We need to keep it that way.”

Bucky shrugs and watches him stride down the hallway towards his room. The harsh slam of his door cuts the silence.

* * *

_“How’s the fever?” Steve presses his hand to your hot forehead. The burn impossibly warm for the average human. He frowns and wets a damp cloth to cool you down._

_“Ugh not good,” you grumble. “This is ridiculous. I never get sick. Enhanced are not supposed to get sick!”_

_A wave of nausea hits you again. “Oh fuck,” you murmur before leaning over the side of the bed to throw up. Bucky’s already there with a bowl to catch it, his metal hand gently pulling your hair back._

_“Shh, you’re okay, doll,” he says softly._

_“This is mortifying,” you moan before wiping your mouth and falling back against the pillows of your bed._

_“Nah, you’re cute when you’re all helpless,” Bucky chuckles._

_“True,” Steve adds. “It’s always you taking care of us.”_

_“Only because you stubborn shits get shot on a weekly basis,” you snap. “It’s exhausting.”_

_“But, you play nurse so well.” Bucky raises his eyebrows suggestively, his hand tenderly stroking your cheek._

_A different sort of heat rises up hot and fast in your belly when you think back to the last time you played Nurse for them._

_You slap his arm away. “Ugh don’t make me all hot and bothered when I look like a corpse. I’ve never felt so weak in my life.”_

_“You’re beautiful, sweetheart,” Steve corrects you, pressing his lips to your damp hair. “Barf and all.”_

_“The most beautiful,” Bucky chimes in. You smile despite yourself and snuggle deeper into your bed._

_Steve slides the newly wet cloth over your forehead. Every piece of you is damp with sweat from your lashes to the crevices of your limbs. Bruce had said it seemed like a normal stomach bug that you must have caught from your last mission. Still, something felt off._

_In all the years he had known you, he had never once seen you this ill._

_“Do you really have to go?” you murmur softly. You lace your fingers with Steve’s and cradle his hand between your palms, pressing it to your breasts. You look up at him demurely. It takes all of his willpower to refuse you._

_“Yes,” he sighs. “Tony said he needs everyone on this.”_

_“Fuck Tony,” Bucky whines. “Let’s stay. We can’t leave her.”_

_He wraps his arms around your waist and stretches his body out on your bed. Laying his head on your chest, he smiles innocently up at Steve._

_“Why do you always make me the dad in this situation,” he gripes._

_“Because you’re such a daddy, Cap,” you reply deadpan and Bucky laughs loudly next to you._

_Steve smirks down at you, his expression lustful. “Don’t start something, you can’t finish, princess.”_

_You narrow your eyes. “If you take me now, I’ll probably barf all over you.”_

_“Yep.” Steve grins. “Mood killed.”_

_“Not for me!” Bucky nuzzles his face into your breasts. “Barf on me all you want, I’ll still fuck you senseless.”_

_“And they say chivalry is dead,” you say lightly  before kissing Bucky’s forehead. “Okay off. I really do feel horrible and you’re crushing my stomach.”_

_Bucky pouts._

_“The faster we get this mission done, the faster we can come back,” Steve points out, grabbing his helmet from your side table. He leans down to kiss your cheek._

_“We’ll be back before you know it,” he tells you softly._

_“Bring me back some Hydra goon’s head so, I can mount it on my wall,” you chirp._

_“You’re so fucking morbid,” Steve laughs._

_Bucky grunts as he sits up and straps his gun to his back. He slips three knives into his pants before winking at you._

_“Let’s go,” Steve commands. Bucky strides towards you and curls his hands around your skull, he crushes his lips to yours in a heated kiss and you furiously push him off of you._

_“Oh god, Buck,” you squeal. “I didn’t even brush my teeth.”_

_He licks his lips. “Tastes sour.”_

_You grab one of your pillows and toss it at him. “Perv.”_

_“Call us if you need us, baby,” he sing songs as he follows Steve out the door._

* * *

Steve wakes up in cold sweat, his breath ragged and raging in his chest. The nightmare had just been the beginning of  _that night_. He had thought about it often: thought about it every day, really.

What he could have done differently? Whether there had been any inkling of what was to come? Whether he had missed something in the way you had smiled up at him from the nest of your pillows. It had started out innocently enough.

Yes, he had lived these nightmares on a consistent basis.

And your appearance had only returned those memories to the forefront of his mind more intensely than ever.

He takes in his surroundings. The afternoon sun slides along the navy blue comforter of his bed, sends shadows sprawling across his floor. He must have only been asleep for an hour maybe less.

Exhaustion throbs at the back of his skull. He presses his palms to his eyelids until they ache. He falls back against his pillows. His breath still strains within his rib cage. He does not want to sleep again – does not want to dream or see or remember what happened.

Sleep takes him, anyway.

* * *

_“I don’t understand.” Natasha eyes the reports and maps that are scattered along the Quinjet floor. “How could that Intel have been so…false?”_

_Tony bites his lips, surveys the reports before glancing back at Steve. “I honestly have no idea.”_

_The map they had been given had taken them to a remote location in the Andes where a supposed Hydra facility was creating nuclear weapons. Only thing was, was that there was no Hydra facility. There was nothing but, snow and rock._

_“Something is wrong,” Steve observes. The blood beneath his skin is tingling, setting the hairs on the back of his neck on end. “This is all wrong.”_

_“Who was your source?” Bucky asks from his seat, his gun balanced on his thighs._

_Tony rolls his eyes. “Fury,” he snaps. “I wouldn’t have taken the entire team on some wild goose chase unless the orders came from Nick.”_

_“And you spoke to him directly? Nat replies._

_“Well, no it was on video chat,” he admits._

_“And he said you needed all of us?” Peter implores, tugging at the fabric of his suit._

_“Yes. Why?”_

_“Because it just seems weird. he would ask that,” Peter points out. “I mean he even asked me to be there. When has he ever called the entire team on some regular recon mission?”_

_Tony looks like he’s about to reply before he snaps his mouth shut. A nervous energy suddenly flares up behind his eyes._

_“Well what would be the point of sending all of us away?” Wanda queries. “Just to waste our time?”_

_Steve’s stomach drops. His hands nearly tear the back of the pilot chair in half._

_“Because we weren’t all sent away,” he growls. “We left one behind.”_

_“No,” Bucky murmurs before immediately standing up and ripping Sam’s phone from his back pocket._

_“What the fuck, man?” Sam yells._

_“Natasha get FRIDAY on the line, right now,” Steve commands, his fingers trembling._

_Hold it together. Hold it together. Hold it together._

_Natasha tries to connect into the system and waits and waits and waits. The silence is deafening._

_“She’s been disconnected,” Nat announces, eyes wide with fear. “Everything is offline.”_

_Tony’s face drains of color._

_“FUCK,” Bucky roars, the phone clenched in his hand. “She’s not answering.”_

_Steve swallows thickly, breathes in and out. Counts to ten._

_“Clint,” he orders. “Get us to the compound like your life depends on it.”_

* * *

_As soon as they land, Steve and Bucky race to your room._

_It’s empty. The bath is on. Water soaks  terry cloth rug. Flows over tile._

_“Maybe, she left-“ Bucky starts._

_“Oh no,” Wanda shrieks from the common room._

_When they reach her, there is nothing but chaos._

_Broken furniture. Shelves destroyed. The entire wall of glass overlooking the grounds is shattered completely._

_The air burns with artillery smoke and gunpowder. Steve nearly slips on a shell casing._

_He finds a shred of your robe tossed forlornly on the ground. Cherry blossom pattern against pale blue silk._

_He’s gets sick when he finds blood, dark red and viscous, smeared across the hallway. A handprint on the wall._

_Tony is rewiring Friday – frantically reloading the back-up systems. Pulling up video surveillance._

_“Don’t worry, Rogers,” he yells. “We’ve got this. We’ll get her.”_

_He thinks his world collapses right then. He falls to his knees._

_You’re gone. Taken._

* * *

Steve wakes up again. Tears wet against his cheeks. He feels your loss once more – deeply and resolutely – feels it to the very marrow of his bones.

He roars as he takes his bedside lamp and throws it against the wall.

White china scatters to the floor.

He does not want to fall asleep again and he won’t.

He refuses to dream about what happened after you were taken. He does not want to see it played out in living color.

He knows it well enough. He was there.

After they found you. After you died.

Them taking you had only been the beginning.

* * *

The muddled yell and following crash from the neighboring room startles you from your sleep.

_Steve_

His pained voice tugs at your heart, slips its fingers between your ribs and pulls. You shake the feeling off.

He had seemingly wanted nothing to do with you. It had been two weeks since Natasha had moved you into your room and you had barely seen either Steve or Bucky.

The only times you had, had been the flash of them turning the corner, the briefest murmur of conversation behind the wall. You could hear Bucky puttering out his room at odd hours, the rhythmic purr of his metal arm winding. You could hear the scratch of pencil on paper from Steve’s.

On top of kinetic energy, your body also seemed to boast enhanced hearing. Lucky you.

You stretch your arms above your head, press your palms against the velvet headboard. The sheets are wrapped tight around your legs.

You hadn’t dreamed since the day you had awoken to Thor and Nat. There are no images of needles in your arm, that aristocratic face with the devil grin, the red-eyed nurse. No images of the two warm, heavy bodies who held you close either.

Your sleep was just blank darkness.

It’s nearly daylight, you venture.

The cool light of dawn filters through your window. Pink tendrils of light seeping onto the floor and across your bedspread. You didn’t like shutting your curtains – preferring to see the delicate glint of stars and moon.

You fiddle with the sleeves of your night shirt, stretch your legs beneath the bedspread. You weren’t likely going to be able to fall back asleep.

Nervous energy taps beneath the surface of your skin. The uncertainty. The strangeness of your predicament. The odd familiarity with these men you had barely seen. It was all too much.

“I need a walk,” you grumble to yourself before pulling on your yoga pants.

You take off down the hallway – not noticing the silver-armed figure trailing quietly after you.


	4. Chapter 4

The grounds of the compound are cloaked in a buttery haze; kissed by the first rays of the morning that filter through the lingering mist. The damp from the night before sinks into your skin – tickles your ankles.

You head to the lake, uncertain exactly how to get there but, your feet take you regardless. The lawn is expansive; emerald and wet. There’s a sense of familiarity here: the patchwork thickets of trees, the humid-thick air, and the light reflected off the glass and metal surfaces of the Compound’s outer walls.

You find a simple dirt pathway through the trees and your stomach flips.

_This way._

You head down it. The distant sounds of rolling water on pebbles catches your ear. Before long, the heavy greenery gives way to the lake and a small secluded shore of white stone, dirt and grass.

Your breath catches at the sight.  _Something about this place_.

A gorgeous Oak stands tall near the shore. It’s maze of branches reaching out towards the sun like thick serpents. You tread lightly, balance your feet on its gnarled roots before skipping over the next. You trail your fingers over the knots and gouges in its weathered face.

The faint flush of dawn makes way for the sun. The giant stream of gold melts the fog away from the surface of the water. The air is filled with the song of woodpeckers and jays, the gentle waves against the dirt shore, the silky breeze.

You breathe it all in.

Ever so slowly you peel your socks and shoes off, rub your toes into the wet sand. You slide your feet into the shallows of the lake. It’s ice cold – lidded with the perfume from the nearby trees: black cherry, beech and sycamore. Tiny white blossoms paint the shadows of this small section of the water.

Finally alone with your thoughts, your mind opens up, purged of the numerous feelings and moments that have plagued you since you woke up in the Med Bay. You lift your hand and focus hard – watch a flicker of pink flame illuminate your palm. It fizzles and dances before dying out in a zap.

“This sucks,” you mutter. The sound of your own voice echoes against the quiet and makes you feel dimly hollow.

You are excruciatingly lonely despite being amongst a group of people who obviously seemed to care about your wellbeing. You can’t pinpoint why you feel this way other than the fact that something seems to be irrevocably missing.

You bend down and pick up a smooth white stone. You hold it up; press your fingers into its hardness before illuminating it with a ball of fuchsia energy.

You study the flare, feel its heat before tossing the stone and watching it skip over the lake’s surface. The pink ball of light dances beneath the sun before hissing out as it is consumed by the water.

“Having fun?”

“Jesus!” You shriek as you grab your chest and spin around to stare at the intruder.

Bucky Barnes is leaning casually against the oak tree. He’s dressed in a black cotton tank top with grey sweats hung low on his hips. Dark hair is slicked back into a low bun. His arms are crossed tightly across his chest, emphasizing the size of his biceps. You have a nagging suspicion he’s doing it on purpose.

You realize you’re staring and avert your eyes quickly. He doesn’t miss it and a devilish grin breaks out across his face.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he drawls.

“I’m sure,” you reply curtly before turning back to the lake. “What are you doing here?”

“Morning swim.” he offers. “And shouldn’t I be asking you that> You’re the strange new addition to the house, after all.”

You grit your teeth, your fingertips pressed so harshly into your skin that it throbs. You exhale forcefully through your nose, your breath coming out in a huff.

_It’s not like you chose to be brought here_

“Needed to think,” you reply icily.

You’re pissed. Frustrated. This man has been nothing but, rude to you the past few weeks and his bravado act is unwelcome. There’s a feral swagger to his gait, a confidence that drives you mad. He is deliberately trying to unsettle you, throw your guard off.

And now, he’s interrupting your moment of peace.

Bucky is slightly taken aback by your attitude. He’s not sure what he expected? Shy meekness? Fright? You had looked so lost the last time he had truly seen you up close that he figured you’d remain unchanged.

How could he so easily have forgotten the way you used to be? The sass. The sarcasm. The temper that sent his blood burning beneath his skin whenever you got angry with him. The temper that often lead them to clawing at each other in his bedroom or Steve’s room or really any room with a hard surface.

He swallows thickly and adjusts his position to temper the rising heat in his belly.

_Fuck, he missed you_

“Did you need something?” you ask and he notices that you’re staring at him blankly.

He suddenly realizes that he’s the one gazing at you like a heartbroken idiot. He quickly coughs against his hand.

“You aren’t cold?” He motions to your lack of a sweater. The tight material of your t-shirt clings to your waist like a second skin. The curves of your legs elongated in those damn black yoga pants.

You shake your head. “I seem to run hot.”

“ _I think your skin runs hotter than mine.”_

* * *

_He remembers the two of them in bed. The middle of summer and the air conditioning had broken. Stark had blown a fuse during one of his many experiments making the building nearly unlivable. Nat had swiftly checked herself into a hotel but, you and Bucky decided to wait it out. Steve had been stuck on some mission in Sydney so, he had been blissfully ignorant of their plight._

_“I think your skin runs hotter than mine,” Bucky mumbles against your ear, trailing a hand down your belly._

_You hum, watching his exploring fingers through heavy lidded eyes. His hand slips beneath the band of your underwear and you jerk against him._

_“Mmm too hot for sex,” you moan but, the wetness against his fingers says otherwise._

_He chuckles low and runs his tongue against the shell of your ear, tastes the salt of you._

_“Bucky!” you whine. “It’s boiling.”_

_“We can get hotter,” he growls and quickly climbs on top of you, body pressing you into the mattress._

_You laugh as the air leaves your lungs. “That was the lamest line that’s ever come out of your mouth.”_

_He leans his head back to look down at you. A frown forms on his lips._

_“Lame as some of Steve’s?” He hikes your leg up and over his hip._

_You bite your lip in thought as he nuzzles his nose against yours. “C’mon. He managed to compare you to a rose and a swan in the same sentence the other week.”_

_You smack his arm and huff. “I thought that it was very sweet.”_

_“Well-meaning? Maybe. Lame? Yes. The man is no poet.” He snickers._

_“And you are?”_

_“Haven’t I managed to get you off with just my words, darlin’?” he says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively._

_“Dirty talk isn’t poetry,” you snap but, arousal is staring to flood your system at the memory of his lips against your mouth telling you every dirty thing he was thinking._

_“Sure it is,” he argues. “I want to feel that tight, sweet little pussy choke my huge fucking cock like I know it can.”_

_Your eyes widen and you offer a mocking gasp, pressing a hand to your chest. “My oh my, James Buchanan. Pure Shakespeare right there.”_

_He smirks down at you, burrows himself against your body more possessively. His large hands slide up your waist, the coolness of the metal a relief on your tender skin. He gently runs a thumb across your cheek, touches the pillow of your bottom lip. His eyes bore into your own and he leans down to kiss you._

_It’s a soft kiss. Gentle. Almost pure._

_Pulling away, he smiles. “Let me try again.” You wiggle a little beneath him, stare up at him expectedly._

_He takes a deep breath. “Sometimes I forget where I am - I feel lost, unmoored. Broken as hell a lot of the time.” He pauses - cups the back of your head, scratches your skull. His lips hover a hair breadth above your own. “But, your face always brings me back. That smile brings me back.”_

_A grin breaks out across your face and you wrap your arms around his neck, tangle your fingers in his hair. He presses his lips to your ear, whispers more heated words. “I burned for you for so long. Even as the soldier, I burned for you.”_

_He hears your swift intake of breath, the way your hands squeeze him tighter._

_“Fuck, Bucky,” you murmur wetly. “That was pretty good.”_

_He pulls you closer to him, licks the shell of your ear. “So can I fuck that sweet, little pussy now?”_

_You laugh despite yourself, eyebrow cocked._

_“Yes. Always yes.”_

* * *

“Are you okay?”

Bucky is quietly staring at you as if you’ve grown another head.

“Uh yeah,” he says hurriedly, words rolling over themselves. “Just was thinking of something.”

You turn around completely to get a better look at him and Bucky lowers his gaze. His eyes shine faintly beneath the hanging branch of the tree as he watches you. The fingers of the sun glide along the browned skin of his chest. His silver arm shimmers and your gaze is inexplicably drawn to the knots and marred surface of his scarred shoulder.

You walk forward and ever so slowly reach out to him.

“Did that hurt?” you murmur, running gentle fingers over his scars.

A shock runs through him at your touch. His lips fall open and his breath comes out in a heavy sigh.

He reaches over and covers your hand with his own. Thick calloused fingers press fire on your skin. He doesn’t speak, just brushes his thumb back and forth.

You forget yourself and pull your hand back sharply. There is some piece of you drawn to him, drawn to comforting him for some reason.

It had called to you.

“She always used to do that,” he says under his breath as he gazes down at you beneath heavy lidded eyes. “I was ashamed of it – of the scars and she would touch them like they were the most beautiful piece of me.”

“She?” you ask, despite having a good guess who he means.

Bucky frowns, lines crinkle at the center of forehead as he studies your face. The pink slip of his tongue wets his lips and slowly ever so slowly he reaches up to brush a lock of your hair from your forehead. His fingers travel downward, cupping your cheek. The warm of him is consuming.

“You,” he says huskily. “You always did that.”

Your eyes widen, realizing just how close his face is to yours. You take in the fine dusting of stubble along his jaw, the white fire of his blue eyes boring into yours. The small quirk of his lips.  

He says your name so softly you barely hear it. The syllables drifting from his mouth in the rhythm of a love song.

You jerk backwards, your feet catching on a rock sending you falling. But, you don’t hit the ground. Instead, strong arms are wrapped around your waist. Bucky is staring down at you confused.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he concedes before releasing you quickly. He takes a step backward, averting his eyes.

“No sorry. I didn’t mean – never mind,” you stammer.

There is a long silence between the two of you. Bucky’s brow is dark and furrowed, his lip caught between his teeth. You have to keep yourself from smoothing it away. The tension nearly unbearable.

You glance down at your hands before looking back at him. “Can we uh start over?”

He’s momentarily taken aback before he chuckles. “Yeah. Yeah, we can.” He moves toward the compound before turning back to you, offering a bright smile.

“Want to get breakfast?”

* * *

 

Bucky empties most of the contents from the fridge onto the counter. Of course, they’re nearly out of everything thanks to Sam’s insane appetite and Peter Parker’s continuous visits.

“I’m forcing both of those fuckers to go shopping.. _together_ ,” Bucky mutters under his breath. He’s slightly tickled by the idea of Wilson being forced to go on multiple errands with Parker all by himself.

“Omelet okay?” he asks over his shoulder, pulling out spinach, cheese, and onion. “Looks like we’re fresh out of anything for pancakes.

You nod. “I’m more of a savory person anyways.”

_Yes, he remembered that._

He turns around to start prepping: chopping the onions, washing the spinach, buttering the pan. The comfortable silence is only interrupted by the cracking of an egg or the faint sizzle from the stove.

“Can I make the coffee?” you offer.

“Sure,” he replies. “Thanks.”

You scoot in next to him and he’s shocked at how adept you are at handling Stark’s hi-tech coffee machine. He’s yet to master it. But, that’s mostly out of a stubborn refusal to validate Tony’s tech.

When he moves to throw in the spinach, you accidentally run into him. The curve of your hip knocking against his thigh.

“Sorry!” you exclaim, slightly embarrassed.

“No worries,” he mumbles, desperately trying to ignore the faint perfume of your scent that has clouded his nose. Gardenia and Sweetpea. Heady and Floral.

You pass him a mug and he’s careful to avoid your fingers. These small patches of skin that are available to him are almost too much. He’s holding himself back but, a piece of him wants to drown in you.

He sips his coffee and his eyes widen at the taste. “You know how I like my coffee?” he blurts out.

You frown. “I just – well I just added three spoonfuls of sugar. I don’t know why…lucky guess?”

You bite your lip and turn around to head back to your chair behind the counter.

_Hardly a lucky guess. Yeah fucking right. She’s remembering._

Bucky smirks before turning back to the eggs.

“So, were you and I close?” you ask shyly.

He freezes.  _Close would be the understatement of the century._

“We were,” he finally admits. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. Just a feeling I have,” you reply softly. “Like I want to protect you..I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

Bucky’s heart clenches and he turns back to you.

“Yeah, you were very protective,” he says slowly. “You protected everyone, though.”

* * *

_Bucky recalls everything when it came to you. Yes, you were protective to a fault. But, also passionate and beautiful and blazing. A true wild card._

_During a routine press conference, Bucky and you had been interviewed by CNN._

_It had been a necessary PR overhaul. After Thanos, after the Accords – the world needed to see the Avengers again. Tony didn’t necessarily demand that Bucky get his face in front of the cameras but, he implied it would be best for the team._

_Bucky found it immeasurably difficult to say no to Stark due to his own guilt. Although, Tony had already forgiven him._

_And so here he was under blinding white hot lights. Sweat collecting beneath his brow and the collar of his white button down._

_“I feel like I’m much better suited for the Avengers Swimsuit Calendar, babe,” he says softly, twisting his head away from the make up brush a woman is poking against his cheek._

_You laugh. “I’m sorry but, you need a PR overhaul. Yes, the dark broody bad boy thing works for the teenager girls but, everyone needs to know that you’re a good guy.”_

_He snorts. “I’ll have you know that I’m voted number 1 Sexiest Avenger for women ages 25 and up.”_

_You shrug. “Tough luck that Peter took your spot for the 21 and under demographic.”_

_He scowls at you but, you ignore him. Instead, you reach over, gripping his collar between your fingers to tug him forward._

_“I know you’re nervous and I know this isn’t your thing. But, the people deserve to know that you’re a wonderful person. The best.”_

_His eyes widen as you hold his gaze.  “You’re a hero, Bucky and it’s time we stated that publicly.”_

_You kiss him lightly on the lips before releasing him and turning back to the assistant who is going over the interview questions._

_The girl handling his make-up looks between the two of you and averts her eyes. The Avenger’s romantic life is not exactly public knowledge and he really hopes that she signed an NDA._

_When the interview starts, you are the picture of elegance: hair up, lipstick on, a clean blue blazer and tight pencil skirt in the place of leather and suede boots._

_The interview had been going exceedingly well with you taking most of the questions. Well, until it didn’t._

_CNN’s Jim Carter, had turned to Bucky and licked his lips. “And what about you Sergeant Barnes? There are some factions of the public who demand that you pay for your crimes, as well?”_

_Bucky hears your sharp intake of breath, watches your nails dig hard into the chair to the point where the arm rest bends a little. He’s goading you both and Bucky can taste your anger, feel the sparks flying out of your ears. He quickly places his hand on your thigh and squeezes it under the table._

_“Too fucking far,” you hiss under your breath and Bucky squeezes again._

_He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders, meeting the interviewer head on._

_“I’ve offered myself time and time again to be put on trial,” he states curtly. “I was cleared of all charges shortly after the Decimation was reversed. I do not think there is more to say on that topic.”_

_You grip his hand and offer him a blinding smile. You’re proud but, then your gaze falls on the interviewer. It could cut glass._

_“Sergeant Barnes was a prisoner of war,” you declare, your expression a mask of coolness. “He has not only paid in full for what he was forced to do but, has given back to the world tenfold. He is a hero plain and simple.”_

_Your lips curl into something almost skull-like and your eyes narrow to slits. The reporter pulls himself backwards._

_“I do not believe someone like you, Mr. Carter, who was well known for rubbing soldiers with HYDRA leaders back before the fall of SHIELD has any room to speak. Weren’t you photographed with Baron Strucker on his private Yacht on more than one occasion?”_

_Jim Carter coughs loudly and slams his fist against his shirt. You scoot back into your seat, folding your arms delicately over your knees. A Cheshire grin curling your beautiful mouth._

_Bucky stares at you and you wink back at him. He feels his heart expand in his chest, his fingers curl around your leg beneath the table._

_He could shout to the heavens. To the world right now._

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

* * *

“This omelet is amazing,” you gush. Taking another bite.

You look up to find Bucky watching you, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Want me to help clean?” you ask, reaching over to collect his plate.

His eyes are still hovering over you, silently he reaches forward and wipes a dab of cheese from your lip. The chill from his metal hand catches you off guard and you pull away slightly. He jerks his hand back and grimaces.

“No, don’t worry about it,” he murmurs. “I’ve got this.”

When he gets up to put away the dishes, he turns back to you. His face is now a blank, emotionless mask. Cool and calm.

“I’ll see you around,” he says quietly before moving towards the sink.

The drastic change in his attitude feels like a wash of ice cold water. Before you can say anything, he’s already loudly cleaning up the dishes, fumbling with the pans. 

You mumble a goodbye before leaving him.

* * *

Thor stalks from one side of the hallway to the other. He can hear you moving inside your room: the crisp sound of a page turning and the rubbing of socked feet against velvet cushions.

_Just knock, you idiot._

He has been thoroughly vexed ever since they had found you. The sharp slap of your appearance had left him stuttering for breath.

Back in that forsaken Hydra facility, he had caught you before your head had hit the metal table. He had felt the warmth of your skin against his arms, the softness of your hair. To see you so confused, so frightened when he had only ever known you as powerful and strong had unsettled him.

Your death had broken him in more ways than one. Though, he would not admit it. That public mourning had only truly been allowed for Steve and Bucky. He had been left to tend to his wounds alone – pretending that New Asgard had needed him and so, he left for a while. He no longer could stand the sight of your empty bedroom, the space on the Quinjet where you always hovered.

No, he had not been allowed to show much of anything when it came to caring about you.

He knocks, stepping back quickly as he glances down the hallway. It would really be just perfect if Rogers or Barnes came out of their respective rooms at this very moment.

Your door opens and you lean against it.

“Hello,” he greets you warmly.

“Hi.” You smile. Your hair is messy around your face. You’re dressed in a pair of skinny jeans and a thick white sweater  

“Apologies, did I wake you?”

“Oh no!” you exclaim. “I was reading – kind of lost track. Is it time for dinner or something?”

“Dinner?” he asks confused.

“Nat always sends someone to get me for dinner,” you shrug. “I tend to get lost around this place.”

“Oh,” he laughs, tucking his arms behind his back. “No, I was just-well I was just wondering if you’d like to go for a walk? I know things have been a bit confusing and well, I would like to accompany you outside maybe, if you would like?”

He pauses to breathe. You’re staring at him wide-eyed and he feels a hot wave of embarrassment flood his chest.

“Of course, you don’t have to,” he stutters. “You really don’t have to. I’m sorry. You must be tired still from - everything. I didn’t –“

You move forward and capture his hands in yours. He quiets immediately – uncertain how he, the great God of Thunder, the Asgardian lothario has become so tongue tied at your presence.

“I would like that, Thor,” you reply softly. His name on your lips sends a wash of warmth down his stomach and he squeezes your hands.

_Oh, he had missed you_

“C’mon,” he says. “I know a place.”

* * *

Thor guides you outdoors towards the South side of the compound. It’s evening: velvet blue sky, splashed with violet. Completely quiet except for the murmur of crickets and throaty call of bullfrogs.

A couple of SHIELD trainees pass them as they head down towards the trees. They greet Thor with shy smiles but, when their eyes fall on you they blanch. They’ve been sworn to secrecy. According to Sam, your death had been a global tragedy.

No one was ready to open that Pandora’s box until they knew all the facts.

“Here we are,” Thor announces.

You’ve stopped at the base of a large hill. Practically a mountain. You look up at the daunting height and give Thor a quizzical look.

“Wasn’t really prepared to hike up anything,” you say.

“I have a shortcut,” he replies playfully. He offers his hand to you. “Do you trust me?”

You shrink back a little, a bubble of uncertainty in the back of your mind.  _Did you trust anyone here? It’s not like you had a choice._

Thor looks down at you, the moon glinting off his golden head. A breeze ruffles the long strands that fall over his shoulders. His red long-sleeved t-shirt clings to his tapered waist. He’s still smiling down at you, seemingly unfazed that you’ve backed away from him.

“I promise,” he urges. “I’ve got you, little one.”

_Little one._

The pet name strikes a chord. You’d been called that before. Numerous times. You know you have.

You swallow your nerves and grasp his hand, relishing in their warmth as they curl around your own. He pulls you towards him, winding one hand around your waist. He pulls out the large ax you had seen him with from Hydra and you blanch.

_He’s going to murder you._

He holds you tighter before you can scream.

“Hold on,” he murmurs into your hair before lifting his arm to soar upwards.

You glance down and gasp, flinging your arms around his waist and yanking him closer. He chuckles. “It’ll just be a second.”

And it is. Suddenly, you’re on the hard ground at the top of the hill. Thor releases you carefully, wincing a bit. You realize you squeezed him hard enough to bruise.

Another element of your powers…you apparently are very, very strong.

“Sorry,” you profess, gently smoothing Thor’s shirt down as you step away from him. “Was not expecting that. I didn’t know you could fly.”

He smirks. “I can with Stormbreaker.”

He flips the giant ax and places it gently on the ground, offering you a lopsided grin. You giggle despite yourself.

You like Thor. Sure, he’s  giant and regal and extremely attractive but, he’s also sweet He had checked on you nearly every day since you had left the Med Bay.

You turn away from him to take in the view from the hilltop. The lights from the Compound flicker and glow like orbs of flame. A breeze tickles the back of your neck. The heat from the earlier sunshine still clinging to the night’s wake. It’s beautiful and you feel drunk on the deep purple of the sky and the fog of stars

Ever since you returned, every day feels as if it is touched by fever. You flit along, move from one person to the next. Hope that some memory will unlatch itself from the place you have stuffed them away. Despite your one good day with Bucky, you haven’t seen much of him since. Nat says he’s off on a mission with Steve in Tanzania. The thought cuts you just a bit.

Behind you, Thor clears his throat and you turn back to him.

“I was wondering if you’d like to work on your powers?” he offers.

“How?” you ask confused, stepping towards him. Ever since you had blown Clint to high heaven, you weren’t too keen on trying them out unless you were by yourself.

But, perhaps Thor could handle it.

“I have something,” he explains excitedly. He pulls out a long jewel-covered necklace. The gems are like stones of sunlight: gold and amber and glittering. He hands it to you and as soon as your fingers glide over its surface the effect is instantaneous.

Crackling heat spreads along your palm and up your arm. The familiar sensation of when you used your powers on Clint hits you again – harder and more intense. It was as if your power was housed within the necklace as it crawled back into you. It feels stronger. Cleaner. Flames of pink erupt from your fingers and wrap around your arms. The energy dances in your veins, slides along your bones. You gasp, falling to the ground, - the necklace still clutched in your hands. The grass vibrates beneath you, the necklace shakes as if the power within it longs to explode out of its shell. Thor’s arms fall around you and then…

The memory hits you out of nowhere.

* * *

_Cream’s White Room blasts from the record player in the corner. You’re hunched over your vanity table, bare feet digging into a shag carpet. Thick white lines of powder are stretched out in front of you among scattered pink compacts and multicolored eye shadow pallets. The wallpaper is a dismal green, mapped with a white floral pattern. A fire crackles in a black marble fireplace in the corner of the room._

_The calendar pinned to the wall in the corner reads April 1971._

**_I’ll wait in this place where the sun never shines_ ** **_  
Wait in this place where the shadows run from themselves_ **

_You grab the rolled up $100 and snort up three lines. It burns hot fire through your nose – electricity sparking and jolting as it slides up your nasal passage. You rub at your nostrils, wet your thumb and slide it along the table to lick the remnants. Your lips and gums go numb. You grin as you feel the telltale acid drip burn sour down the back of your throat. Your brain balloons out and your heart smacks into your rib cage._

_You’ve done enough to kill any regular mortal. But, lucky for your kind, drug use is a vice without limit._

**_At the party she was kindness in the hard crowd_ ** **  
Consolation for the old wound now forgotten  
Yellow tigers crouched in jungles in her dark eyes  
She’s just dressing, goodbye windows, tired starlings**

_A crack of lightning illuminates the shadows of your bedroom. Startled, you twist around. Was it raining before?_

_You barely know what day it is, anyway. Hell, you don’t know the year half the time._

_Quickly, you move across the room to close your window. The rush of cocaine leaves your fingers trembling as you try and latch it. You run your palms over your thighs to calm yourself. Tonight, you opted for an emerald green sequined jumpsuit. Your necklace burns hot on your chest, mimics the burning of the drugs in your bloodstream._

_You highly doubt you’ll even make it out._

_It doesn’t matter. You have a kilo of cocaine and a wine cellar. You’re good._

_You lay out more coke. Glancing in the mirror, your eyeliner has smeared slightly. There’s a fog to your eyes. A hollowness. You grab your red lipstick to hopefully straighten the picture._

_The record starts again and you hum along._

_Suddenly, a rush of wind rips your window open. The taste of ozone singes the air. You close your eyes, sighing._

_Of, course._

_“What are you doing?” A low voice growls from behind you._

_You lazily turn your head over your shoulder to greet the massive shadow towering in the corner of your room._

_“Cocaine,” you reply, clipped. “What are you doing here, Thor?”_

_He moves towards you quickly and you scoot away from him. You don’t want him to touch you. You don’t want anyone to touch you. He moves his arms behind his back. His expression hurt._

_“Heimdall said you were in pain,” he confesses. “I came to bring you back, Amora.”_

_“Don’t call me that,” you spit. “I don’t go by that name anymore.”_

_Thor frowns. “Since when?”_

_You snort choosing to ignore him. You grab the open wine bottle from your dresser and take a long healthy gulp – desperate to muddle the drug high that is making your eyes bulge out of your head. It tastes lemony and sweet – makes you mouth fill with cotton._

_“I’m not returning to Asgard,” you snap. “I don’t want to.”_

_Thor strides towards you and grabs you by the arms. A rumble of anger vibrates within his chest and knocks against your own._

_“You cannot waste away here, waiting on the ghosts of two dead men,” Thor roars, gripping you hard. “You are killing yourself.”_

_The words are an ugly discordance that pierces your heart. They crash loudly against you and then break apart into sharp shards of emotions that cut you down to the quick and yank all the air from your lungs._

_You look at him furiously._

_He did not know them. He did not know how it felt to be with them. To love them._

_His words have violated you for some reason and you ready yourself to bite and unleash the anger that is threatening to boil over. However, it dies as soon as it starts when Thor’s rough palm brushes gently against your jaw to cup your cheek._

_“You have been on Midgard long enough, little one,” he urges. “Please come back with me.”_

_As you swallow gulps of air, your breaths turn into sobs. Salty tears slip down your cheeks leaving tracks of burning dampness. Thor reaches for you and you fight back at first, pushing him away because you really don’t want his comfort._

_You are fine alone here. You are fine with your thoughts and your ghosts and the dog tags they gave you. Maybe, they’ll come back. Maybe, they will because it doesn’t feel as if they’re gone._

_Thor holds you to him more tightly. His arms like two bands of steel around you. You tire yourself out and fall against him. Your body shakes in his arms and he hushes you, holding your head to his chest. He smooths your hair, hums some tune you recall his mother used to sing when you were young._

_The record skips and then continues._

**_I’ll sleep in this place with the lonely crowd_ ** **_  
Lie in the dark where the shadows run from themselves_ **

***

Your eyes snap open and Thor is hovering over you. His long blonde hair a curtain around your face. You lift your hand up to run your palm along his cheek. His eyes soften.

“What did you see?” he murmurs.

You rub your temples slowly. Your head aching fiercely from the onslaught of not only images but, tastes and touches and sounds.

Thor prods you gently. “Please, tell me.”

You describe what you can. The memory no longer clear as it was before. Now, there are just hazy feelings: the burning in your nose, the hot flood of tears, the brutal ache in your heart. The longing for people you lost - whoever they were.

He does not speak after you tell him. Instead he watches you carefully, watches the way you study him.

“How long have we known each other, Thor?” you finally ask him. He bites his lip, furrows his brow and turns away.

“Quite a while.”

“How long?”

“It is best if you let these memories come to you slowly,” he suggests. “I fear that telling you absolutely everything would well and truly overwhelm you.”

“That is so fucking unfair,” you whine angrily. You move quickly to the side of the cliff before realizing that you can’t simply climb down. “How do I get off this thing?”

“I’m sorry that I cannot give you answers. But, it seems that things are coming back to you. I believe you will know everything soon enough.”

You roll your eyes. “Easy for you to say.”

He chuckles. “You were always highly impatient.

You swallow thickly. You attempt to recall the exact details of the memory but, it’s nearly bled away into pieces. A watercolor of senses. You don’t want to think too hard about the fact that you seemed to be around over 40 years ago.

Out of nowhere, an overwhelming sadness grips your heart and you feel another wave of tears start. The frustration alone is killing you. You turn away from Thor because you are sick of crying. Sick of being this dismal creature.

Thor blessedly doesn’t reach for you but, he does hover behind you, offering the warmth of his body heat.

“You are so strong,” he says softly. “The strongest of all of us. I have little doubt that you will survive this as you have survived all things.”

It’s not what you want to hear but, it’s enough and you turn back to him.

The two of them share a moment’s pause: gazes meeting beneath moonlight.

There is a familiar understanding that you seem to latch onto, that there is something that lingers between the two of them..something like  _home_.

***

A broken sob awakens Bucky from his sleep. A thud hits his wall and he knows that’s exactly where your headboard is.

It’s been a month since they had breakfast. Bucky cannot seem to interact with you without being engulfed by memories and emotions. And so, like the coward he is, he has done everything in his power to avoid you.

Steve has played it safe. He won’t even mention you – has literally drowned himself in mission after mission – not setting foot back on the Compound unless he has to.

Another muffled cry sounds from your room and his heart stops.

He cannot leave you alone. Not again.

He has to help you. He has to.

He quickly slides out of his bed and makes his way to your bedroom.

He finds you curled up on your bed, hands curled claw-like into the duvet, legs curled in the blankets. Sweat dapples your skin.

“No!” you shriek. “Please stop! Please.”

Bucky feels his heart break in half. He hears it in the keen of your voice, in the trembling staccato in the back of your throat. You’re remembering.

He cannot imagine all of the horrors that Hydra had put you through before they got there. Your body had been so badly injured – torn apart that he had gotten sick at the sight of you.

Of course, you hadn’t been able to tell them what had happened.

It had been too late.  

In seconds, he’s at your side, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you into his lap.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers – frenzied. “Sweetheart.”

But, you’re pushing against him. He can hear the short, heavy gulps of breath. The erratic heartbeat. He knows nightmares better than anyone.

He shakes you a little, cups your chin.  

“Darlin, c’mon wake up,” he coaxes. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

Your nails dig half-moons into his chest; he groans at the sting but, holds you closer despite it. Your eyes fly open.

“Bucky?” And his name comes out of like a sigh, like the many times you used to say it when you were shuddering beneath him. You look up at him from beneath your lashes, your tongue sliding along your lower lip.

“Bucky,” you murmur again.

Ever so delicately, his lips brush against yours. He wants you so badly he can taste it. And then he realizes where he is.

“Oh fuck,” he rasps, ripping himself away from you. “I’m so sorry. Jesus Christ. I-“

You reach your hand out to stop him. Your face exhausted. He scrambles off the bed, nearly tripping on your carpet. But, you’re not far behind him. He keeps his hands up in a gesture of submission or a gesture of defense. He’s not sure exactly because he wants to protect you but, you have fire in your eyes.

“What am I to you, Bucky?” you ask, your tone smooth as velvet. Heated eyes and heated tongue.

_You know._

“What do you mean,” he stammers. He was always awful at lying to you.

You take another a step towards him, body swaying with a hypnotic, slow curl that charges his blood.

“I’ve had a lot dreams as of late. I’ve seen you. Seen Steve,” you tell him softly. “ _Felt you_.”

You curl your hands around yourself. The sultry facade drops for a second and he glimpse terror behind your eyes. Vulnerability.

You just want answers from him.

“Fuck,” Bucky curses, scrubbing at his face, attempting to preoccupy his hands though they long to touch you again. He pulls on his hair, directing his attentions to his scalp. His metal arm whirs, shifting and clicking, with his change of mood.

You stare at him blankly – your patience very obviously fraying.

“Tell me, Bucky,” you press. “Tell me how you know me. How you and Steve know me.”

Bucky swallows, grimacing as he recalls the lifetimes between them.

He was told not to tell you. Told to wait. But, he can’t deny you when you’re looking at him like that. He loves you far too much and too hard to leave you in the dark.

“Okay, alright,” he relents shakily.

He motions for you to sit down and you drop down onto the blue velvet couch. He positions himself on the furthest edge of the sofa. He does not know if he has the willpower not to touch you when he’s telling you  _their_ story.

The story of how it all started.

“We came upon you in 1943. It was December and The Howling Commandos had just been formed..”


	5. Chapter 5

_January 1943_

_Resia, Italy_

“Cock sucker! Motherfucking shit!” Bucky bellows as he trips over a snow-covered rock.

“Kiss your mother with that mouth, Barnes?” Gabe quips, as he wraps a strong hand around Bucky’s arm and hauls him up.

Bucky glares at him. “I’d kiss you, Jones.” He lights another cigarette, the red circle burning bright. “If you’re asking?” he adds, inhaling deeply.

Gabe laughs, “Well, haven’t seen a dame in near a month so, desperation may get the better of me. At least, you’re as pretty as one.”

Bucky smirks, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll wait then.”

The 107th Tactical Team had been on a two-day patrol and Bucky’s patience has waned to paper-thin. Desperate for sleep and a warm bed, he moodily swipes at the wet patches of snow that coat his pants and heavy boots.

He stands up to stretch, inhaling the fresh smells of the Italian air. It’s leaps and bounds better than when he was captive in Austria when all he smelled was blood and piss and shit. Here, he can smell the very earth: soft soil, ice and leaves, and the occasional wooden bite of a fire.

“Maybe, we should make camp?” Steve announces from the front of the line. It’s apparent the others are dead-tired. Steve is a different story. He looks the very picture of a Movie Star Soldier: cold-flushed cheeks, windswept golden hair, and wide blue eyes. The fifty mile stretch of recon today has hardly fazed him.

“Super-human jerk,” Bucky mutters under his breath.

Suddenly, Steve stops dead in his tracks. He spins around and catches Bucky’s gaze.

“You smell that?” he asks.

Bucky tastes the air on the back of his throat, grimacing at the combination of smells. Grime and sweat and fear…the usual.

But, no, beneath that…artillery smoke.

Gun powder and blood drift on the wind, punctuating the fresh current of the cold winter air.

In the distance, an alarmed yell sounds to the East of them. The fain patter of bullets like rain on a tin roof.

“Fucking shit,” Steve growls, steel in his voice. “Let’s go!”

* * *

Hidden in the groups of trees, all of them stare dumbfounded at the scene before them.

A hooded figure cloaked in the deepest blue is taking out a group of ten Nazi soldiers. Five are already dead spread out like paper dolls across the thick mud of the battle ground.

The figure moves like water – like sharp glass through satin. A sword the size of Bucky’s leg is held between its hands. It gleams silver – catches bullets as they spray towards its owner. Orange sparks explode from the blade while more bullets catch on its bracers.

Three more Nazis are cut down and the figure backs away, dropping the sword in the process.

“Should we help?” Bucky asks Steve. Obviously, if this person is fighting Nazis then this person is fighting for them.

Steve turns to answer before a crack sounds in the air. The ground trembles and Bucky tastes the acid drip of electricity. Pink tendrils of energy are flying out from the thing’s hands. They slither along the ground, dance in the air before wrapping around the remaining seven soldiers. The energy engulfs them – blackens their lips and skin. Turns them to ash.

Morita falls back against a tree, silently retching at the smell. Monty pats him on the back.

“Looks like they’ve got it under control,” Steve marvels, utterly floored.

Before Bucky can speak, the figure spins around to look at them.

His heart plummets. He is consumed. A woman stares back at him – lovely and blood splashed.

_Oh, there she is._

It’s like seeing the dawn – like staring directly into the sun. He cannot explain why the thought comes to him like a familiar memory

_Oh, there she is_.

Her mouth falls slightly as she studies them.

“Who are - ?”

She doesn’t finish. A dying Nazi beneath her feet sets a grenade off.

* * *

“Christ, Morita,” Steve yells. “Can you save her?”

“I can’t save  _that_!” he screams back. “Her intestines are half out of her stomach!”

“Well try!” Bucky roars.

They don’t know why they rushed you back to their camp. There was little hope for you to begin with. The grenade had sent you flying – causing a gash to rip your stomach wide open. Dark blood streams from your lips and from a cut across your forehead.

But, your eyes are still fluttering. You are still very much awake and aware.

Steve leans over you. His uniform is soaked in your blood, the white star vibrant red. He had scooped you up without a second thought – pressed your face against his chest and run like the wind.

“Stop,” you slur.

“What? What’d she say?” Dugan crows from his place at your feet.

“Stop,” you murmur again, pushing at Morita’s chest.

“Hey, no, ma’am,” Steve coaxes. “Please let us try and save you.”

He clasps your hand in his, squeezing it tightly.

“Are we going to talk about the fact that this lady just killed ten Nazis using some sort of pink magic? “ Gabe hollers, his eyes wild. “And why is she dressed like a gladiator?”

“Shut the fuck up, Jones!” Bucky snaps as he places a hesitant hand against your leather clad torso as if willing his palms the ability to stitch you back together.

He feels something for you – some innate desire to make sure you live through this. It catches him off guard.  

He studies your face: dark lashes and berry lips. You’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.  

His throat constricts a little bit and he glances down to take in your outfit. It’s certainly something “out of time”. An emerald cuirass etched in intricate patterns protects your torso. Your forearms are strapped in green and silver bracers – the same bracers that were strong enough to shield you from bullets. Leather faulds made of the same deep blue as your cloak reach mid-thigh. He averts his eyes from the smooth lines of your bare legs and instead looks at the metal and leather greaves that are strapped to deep green boots that go all the way up over your knees.

“I said STOP!” you finally growl and push Steve so hard that he stumbles backwards and lands ungracefully on his ass.

All of them stare back at you - perplexed.

“But, you’re –you’re going to die,” Morita stammers.

You tilt your head up and cock an eyebrow. “Give me a second,” you mutter before your eyes roll back into your head and you go still. A breathy sigh whistles from your lips and Bucky presses his face against your chest to listen for a heartbeat.

“I think she just died,” Frenchie says solemnly.

“What the fuck just happ-,” Dugan notes.

“Shhh!” Bucky hushes them. He presses his ear harder against your breast – as if that would make a difference

_1…2…3…nothing_

“Buck, I think she’s dead,” Steve says softly.

_THUMP_

Bucky’s head shoots up and he stares down at you. The thin skin of your eyelids flutter and your jaw clenches. He places the pad of his thumb against the corner of your mouth and swipes at the dried blood.

“No, she’s not,” he reveals – awe coloring his tone.

The others step forward and watch as your skin begins to delicately patch itself back together. The small cuts and nicks disappear completely while the wider wounds close themselves into fine raw lines.

Your eyes snap open and Bucky drowns because he sees something beneath the glassy, glittery surface of them. Something deep and ancient and old.

Something like magic.

You push yourself up and run a shaky hand through your sticky, dirty hair.

“Sorry about that,” you apologize kindly – voice rough from the smoke.

Silence. They’re out of things to say. Morita’s eyes are as wide as saucers and Dugan’s usually rose-red face has blanched to snow.

You clear your throat. “I must thank you for helping me. That was very kind.”

Each and every one of them share a confused glance. Steve’s mouth has dropped so far down it nearly hit his chest.

Your eyes light up and you offer them a perfectly white smile. “I’d love to help you if you’d like?”

After that, all bets are off.

* * *

_February 1943_

_Bonndorf, Germany_

“Bonsoir, ma belle damme,” Bucky drawls, a smoke dangling off his lower lip.

He slings his rifle over his shoulder and picks up a box of ammo from the jeep. He winks at your startled expression before climbing up a tree to play target practice with the Nazis who are only a few meters away. He’s clad in nothing but, a pair of navy blue shorts.

You shake your head and roll your eyes but, Bucky still catches the smile that curls your lips.

_He’s still got it_

A group of enemy soldiers have trespassed on your territory and caught you unaware.

Really, it’s the other way around but… _details._

The fact is, is that Peggy gives their team the Intel. Tells them where to be, who to kill and who to save. But, radio chatter can be faulty and information isn’t the most reliable and more often than not the team finds themselves at the wrong end of the gun more times than they can count.

Perched along the branches of the tree, he watches you from above as you follow Steve into enemy territory - watches your cloak flutter around you like a second skin.

Every time you head into danger, Bucky feels sharp twinge of panic. A moment where he forgets what you’re capable of.

After your near-death injury, you had simply joined their group. That was it.

_“I’d like to join your brave band of soldiers,” you propose. “I don’t know this territory that well and I’d like to be of use.”_

_“Uh,” Steve says. “Sure?”_

It had been a little too convenient but, who was Bucky to question your motives. You killed Nazis and killed them well. It had only been a month and you had proven yourself 100 times over – killing more enemies than all of them combined.

From the trees, Bucky watches you leap into battle. There is a sensual beauty to the way you fight. A gracefulness in the way your body twirls and leaps.

Shells are raining down on you and you practically skip across the ground, shield above your head. His heart falls straight out of his chest when he sees you go after a tank (a fucking tank) at a dead run. You jump aboard it in two swift movements, rip the top off and pull the men from inside.

You wrap your hands around their necks and twist. It’s a quick death. Easy.

You dislike guns - claiming that you preferred the old ways.

_Whatever that means._

Bucky had attempted to teach you how to use a gun – show you his favorites. But, you were stubborn.

_No, thank you, sir but, thank you for asking._

You were weirdly formal.

“Barnes!” Frenchie hollers from below him. “Are you too busy day dreaming up there or are you going to fucking shoot?”

“Va te faire!” Bucky yells back before shouldering his gun, taking one quick look and firing.  

His mark goes down in a mist of red. Another follows.

When the rain starts, the battle ends. Bucky clambers down from his tree and searches for you.

Blood drenched and ashy from the hails of bullets, you rejoin them. Your step light and tone lighter.

“Looks like we have a tank now,” you grin playfully as you stick your thumb over your shoulder toward the empty, hulking machine.

* * *

Though, he is loathe to admit it, Bucky had lost something in the prison in Austria. All of them had. The last figments of his innocence had been ripped from his body as soon as they strapped him to that hospital bed and injected him with sour, cold liquid.

It had smelled like pennies.

Today, they fire their guns and kill Nazis because it helps them grieve – acts as a balm for their aching souls. Bucky wonders if he’ll ever actually heal from it.

In the deepest, darkest months of winter, they start their reconnaissance of the burned out, bombed out villages in the French countryside.

During one hellish journey, you come upon a starving child in a rural farmhouse. Her parents are long-dead. Dried husk bodies on a metal cot in the corner bedroom.  Skin and bones, the poor thing is clinging more to death than to life. Steve attempts to stop you from seeing by holding you back but, you swiftly shove him aside. Wordlessly, you gather her in your arms and press her tiny face against your chest. You whisper soft words to her - rock her, stroke her face and thin hair.

The men silently leave – unable to bring themselves to watch this. They’ve seen soldiers blown apart and scalped by gunfire but, not this.

This seems the most base -  the darkest part of war.

Bucky and Steve choose to stay – hold vigil over your rocking body as the girl quietly shivers in your arms. She dies with a sigh and you look up at them.

“War is always like this,” you declare softly, a resolute dullness behind your eyes. “The weapons change, the armor maybe. But, at the end of the day – it’s all the same.”

And when you burn the body, Bucky recalls the whistle of wind across the silent field, your cheek against his chest and the shuddering breath of your body. The stench had sickened him but, you stood there silent and imposing holding your body to his with Steve against his shoulder.

Afterward, you don’t speak for a week.

* * *

_June 1943_

_Somewhere on the French Coast_

Austria continues to stay with him: that laboratory, the injections, the pallid face of Zola burning at the back of his mind. These thoughts often leave him crippled. 

He’s still dealing with the ramifications of what they did to him. He burns up from it. Whatever they had injected him with continues to ache beneath his skin, causes his blood to heat to the point of scorching – causes sweat to run down his face.

One night, he’s in the deepest throes of a heat attack. He’s unable to sleep, caught between fevered dreams and painful memories. He wants to weep and nearly does.

But, before he can scream, you’re inside his tent – a frown marring your beautiful features.

“I’m so sorry,” he gasps, pain still burning. “I didn’t mean to wake-“

“Hush, Sergeant,” you snap but, there’s gentleness beneath your tone. You’re nearly on top of him as you reach for his clothing. He backs away from you.

“What-what are you –“

“Cooling you down,” you say gently. “Do you trust me?”

Of course, he does. He gave you his loyalty the moment he saw you twist the neck of one of those Nazi fuckers. His anxiety is bred more from being half-naked in a tent with the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. His days of being suave and smooth are officially over.

Despite this, he finds himself murmuring, “Yes.”

You crawl over to him and reach for his shirt. “Let me help you, Bucky,” you purr and he’s done for when he meets your gaze. Soft eyes and soft mouth against the lazy haze of fever has it all rushing straight to his groin.

He freezes as you carefully unbutton his shirt and pants. “I normally run hot,” you explain simply. “But, sometimes I can invoke the cold.”

You push him to his side before removing your robe. You’re only clad in a thin nightgown they had found for you in a bombed out storefront. He attempts to ignore the shadowy curves of your breasts beneath the flimsy material. Silently, you wrap your arms around him and pull him to you. And then, pleasant as a sea breeze, he feels your skin drop in temperature. You blow cool wind across his forehead and he shudders against you.

“Hold me back, Bucky,” you order, velvety and rich.

Slowly he lifts his arms to wrap around your waist – feels your fluttering heartbeat against his chest.

“Now, sleep,” you whisper and his eyes shut almost immediately.

For the first time in forever, he does not dream of the laboratory or Zola.

Instead, he dreams of Coney Island in the thick of summer. He dreams of melted ice cream and his Ma running soap-soft hands across his forehead.

He dreams of you.

* * *

The familiarity of a bar room quiets Bucky’s mind, calms his weariness. It’s been two weeks since you had held him to your body and chilled his skin. If he hasn’t spent one second not thinking about you, he’d be lying.

Comforting smells and sounds waft over the memories of your soft sighs, the clean scent of your hair and your soft mouth on his throat. Gabe is tapping away at the piano with an exuberant indulgence. The fragrance of stale beer and cigarette smoke drifts through the flow of people. The thought of tasting your tongue consumes him momentarily and his pulse quickens.

You appear suddenly at the table – your deep blue cloak wrapped firmly around your body, the hood draped over your hair. You smile affectionately at all of them and each of them blushes – still floored at the fact that this creature out of legends and myth exists and exists with them.

Morita pulls out a chair for you and you join them, patting him lightly on the shoulder. Bucky catches your gaze and you wink.

_Oh yes, he would be fine if he wasn’t so distracted by thoughts of you spilled across his bed._

After another round of beers, most of them end up bleary eyed and cotton-mouthed.

“So what are you exactly?” Dugan finally asks causing all of them to glare at him.

They’ve been careful about pushing you. They know you’re inherently good, self-sacrificing, and powerful. He’s seen you give mercy to those who are nearly dead. He’s seen you wrap your hands around fallen soldiers who are screaming for their ma’s and told them they’re safe.

You give them softness in their last moments, you give them love.

They assumed you would offer information when you wanted to. Bucky and Steve glance over at you worriedly but, you’re shaking your head a smile curling your lips.

“I wondered when you were going to ask that,” you laugh, tapping your chin.

“To speak in clear terms: I would call myself a god, I suppose,” you sigh. “Where I come from, I’m known as Amora, Enchantress. Goddess of War and Love. Quite a bit of things.”

Silence. Ice clicks in glasses and the piano goes quiet as Gabe spins around to listen.

“Like the Greek myths?” Morita pipes in.

“Norse, actually,” you mutter. “Well, a blend of it. The myths here differ from what actually exists. I was born on Asgard, which is far far away from here. Another planet.”

You go on to describe this Asgard. Bucky doesn’t miss the wistful longing to your voice as you recount the details of your home. You tell them stories of monsters. Stories of gods and goddesses and wars waged millennia’s ago.

Bucky doesn’t ask how old you are but, he can guess.

“Are you the only one here?” Dugan queries. It feels as if they’re all too drunk to really take into account this larger than life explanation.

You bite your lip.

“We have known for some time about this war. Heimdall who is the keeper between our worlds would keep me informed. I grew consumed by it. Unable to tolerate what the Nazis were doing.  Unfortunately, the All Father was none too pleased with me becoming distracted by “Midgardian matters” as he called them,” your forehead creases in frustration. “I snuck away and haven’t been back since.”

You turn your head to Dugan, appraise him with eyes that seem far older than you appear. A depth there that Bucky cannot skim.

“In regards to your question, the answer is yes. It is not just me here …there are others forces of evil beyond this realm who are aiding the enemy,” you reveal slowly. “That was the main reason I could not just remain on Asgard. I could not bear the thought of half this world attempting to win an unfair fight.”

All of them stare at you, slack jawed and wide eyed.

They believe you. Of course, they believe you. They watched your skin patch itself back together after you were blown away by a grenade. They watched energy pour out of your hands and turn the ground black. They watch you lift machinery ten times your size.

Monty finally leans over the table and wraps his hands around yours. “I do believe we are all heavily indebted to you coming down here for us.”

It’s said so sincerely that you blink at him a few moments before it registers. “I’m honored to be part of this group,” you offer shyly.

Dugan laughs and demands another round of drinks in celebration much to the groans of the others. He raises his glass, splashing the table in the process.

“Cheers to our very own Aphrodite! Instead of seashells and sea foam, she was delivered to us on battlegrounds and Nazi scalps!”

“I am NOT Aphrodite.” You glare despite your lips twitching.

“You’re right! You’re much prettier than that old cow,” Dugan quips and downs his beer.

Bucky is at a loss for words. He’s is gob smacked as he watches you laugh.

He did know didn’t he? Hadn’t he felt something deep in his belly that you were larger than life – that you were holy in some way.

Under the table, Bucky watches Steve grab your hand. You look over to him as he smiles at you.

“Not sure what we would have done without you,” Steve says quietly.

_No, he’s not sure what they would have done._

* * *

_December 1943_

_Montauban, France_

Things change in Montauban.

There aren’t enough rooms and you decide to bunk with Bucky. You don’t give him a choice when he nearly swallows his tongue at your decision. Instead, you tighten your cloak around your shoulders and march upstairs – leaving him to trail quietly behind you.

Inside, there’s a faint layer of gunpowder and oil in the room. The remnants of the earlier harassment missions clings to the two of you like a second skin.

Bucky wonders if he will ever get used to it.

He quietly unbuttons his jacket, removes his frayed undershirt. He studies himself in the scuffed up mirror – there are more scars to him now, faint lines and bright pink skin where he’s still healing. His skin looks garish yellow in the candlelight. Pale and sallow. His beard is scruffy and there is a hollowness to his eyes. A darkness that he can’t seem to remove though he has tired.

He’s tired. He’s so  _fucking_ tired.

Soft, small hands wrap around his biceps.

“You’re beautiful,” you say softly behind him and he spins around – embarrassed at being caught gazing at himself. You look up at him beneath thick lashes and he knows there’s no jest or tease behind your words.

He’s struck dumb – words caught like glue at the center of his throat.

Without another thought, he brings your hand to his mouth, kisses your fingers. He kisses them for everything that has happened between them, for all the times you had saved him. He pushes these thoughts into the intimacy of his mouth ghosting over your fingertips.

And suddenly it is not enough. He needs to touch you, needs to run his thumb along your lip that has fallen open at his touch. You pet his beard stubble, trace his jaw line and he closes his eyes, leans into your touch, relishes the feel of you.

He makes a low sound in the back of his throat – something a little inhuman in pitch and meaning and crushes you to him. He kisses you then and your mouth is soft, so much softer than he ever imagined it could be and this almost breaks him apart. All of that desire, all of that need buried beneath the touch of your mouth against his.

When he takes you to bed, the smell of gunpowder and oil starts to smell like something familiar – even safe.

Like home.

* * *

_April 1944_

_Lübben, Germany_

They raid another Hydra base successfully. Free prisoner. Kill Nazis. The American Dream.

Steve is nearly taken out by a rogue Sniper. Before his head can be blown off, you spread your palms, wrap pink magic around the assailant and watch him break apart. It’s messy. It’s bloody and gore-ridden and some sick part of Bucky seems to enjoy it.

Instead of looking horrified, Steve grins – laughs loud and jovial and wraps his arms around you and twirls you around. The war has hardened Steve enough – made him numb to the violence of war. For Steve, you’ve saved him and that’s all that matters.

“You pesky little witch,” he singsongs and you flip him the bird – something Bucky had taught you how to do.

The others start counting their spoils, the number of prisoners they’ll send back to England.

Steve only has eyes for you though.

Pulling you beneath the branches of a dead tree, he unclips his helmet and tugs it off, grips your face between his hands and kisses you so hard your head bounces against bark.

You giggle beneath his mouth – sweet and melodic and Bucky doesn’t know what to do.

* * *

_August 1944_

_Paris, France_

Paris is free. The city is still battle ravaged: skeleton fingers of burned out buildings, blood stained brown on cobblestones, and smoke. So much smoke.

But, they drink and sing and make merry regardless. They need these pockets of happiness – these moments to remember what it was to laugh and to feel a sense that they might be winning.

A month ago, you had gotten shot four times in the stomach and once in the thigh. Before your body could finish healing, Bucky had killed twelve Nazis with a handgun and a pocketknife. Steve had done nine in with nothing but his shield. It didn’t matter that only one of them had done it to you.

It didn’t matter at all and maybe that was a little terrifying.

“Retaliation,” they call it.

Dugan had snorted at that, clapped Steve on the shoulder and grinned.

“Love is a hell of an incentive,” he surmised. “Love and fury makes the blood hot.”

Steve had nothing to say to that. Bucky didn’t either.

You were becoming part of them now – had wiggled your way into the pieces that they only shared with each other.

But, these were things they had yet to say out loud.

In the dark, empty cavern of the barroom, the others have long gone to bed leaving you, Bucky and Steve to your own devices. Bucky is on his tenth cigarette as he shuffles a deck of cards. Steve is on his twelfth whiskey but, is still clear-eyed and unfazed.

In the corner, a jukebox plays  _Some Enchanted Evening_ and the boys watch you spin around and sway – a bottle of gin tucked between your fingers.

You sidle up against Steve, press your back to his chest before turning around.

You kiss Steve first in the shadows of the bar room. You’re only a little drunk – a little giddy. You tighten your fingers in the leather straps of his uniform to pull him down to your mouth. It’s a collision of sorts – your lips crashing into his. Steve grunts in surprise and kisses you back, rough hands trapping your waist and pulling you to him. His tongue dips into your mouth and Bucky wonders where the  _fuck did Steve learn to kiss like that?_

“Um..I should…I’m just going to..” Bucky stammers from behind you and you reach around your back, hook your fingers into his soft blue coat and pull him stumbling into you.

You tilt your head and push your mouth against Bucky’s. The three of them crumble into heavy, rapid breathing. Their hearts speed up and match the other. You’re at the center of it all, tucked between them like their shared treasure – their sun.

When you pull back to gaze at both of them, he sees fire in your eyes – sees something that runs deeper and darker than he can understand.

* * *

_October, 1944_

_Somewhere in France_

They’re stuck in a safe house outside of Paris. Peggy has had little Intel since the liberation of the city and the group is stuck in limbo – waiting for the bottom to drop. Waiting for new orders.

They spend their days playing cards or teaching you American slang. Gabe taps away at an old piano and you sing them Asgardian lullabies. Teach them Asgardian legends.

One morning, you bounce into Steve’s bedroom wearing a new dress. It’s pale blue, cinched at the waist with red and white flowers patterned over it. A flared skirt and square neckline. Little cap sleeves. You’ve pinned a white rose in your hair that Frenchie found for you - snipped it from some bushes at the abandoned house next door and presented it to you like you were the Queen of Fucking England.

“Do I look pretty?” you chirp as you twirl around to show off your outfit.

Steve chokes on his water and Bucky feels his heart skip a beat. Sure, it is far more covered than your uniform but, it’s transformed you. Brought you down to earth a little bit.

It reminds him of what they could have - a lingering promise of what could await them at the end of all of this.

Bucky sees himself back in Brooklyn or fuck, even Connecticut God help him, with you scurrying around the house in a dress just like that. He sees you flecked in flour as you knead dough between your fingers, the same fingers that could crush a man’s skull. He envisions you showing their children how to hold a sword, telling them stories about your time as a warrior queen. A goddess.

He sees you round with his fucking kid or even Steve’s and Bucky can’t help but, ache at the thought that these are all things he might not get.

“Pretty doesn’t even cover it, doll,” he murmurs as he reaches out to touch your waist.

* * *

_January 5, 1945_

_Stalingrad, Russia_

It happens gradually. How the whole of them fall in love.

It happens in the tiny moments, the tiny movements, the tiny words. It happens towards the end even if they had been slowly falling in love with you since the beginning.

And thank god for that because Bucky and Steve had no idea that death had already fisted its claws into their backs. That death was only a month away for Bucky and nearly two months away for Steve.

Outdoors the world is drenched in a darkness so thick that Bucky is startled to see his reflection peering back at him from the window. Gas lamps chase the shadows as warm, old wood cocoon them in this tiny bedroom.

The mood is light and celebratory. They had just fought their way through a Hydra blockade and saved half a battalion who had been imprisoned behind German lines. Earlier that night, you had won three bottles of vodka off the owner of the Inn in a card game.

He was so enamored by you that Bucky thinks he’d have given them to you regardless.

You pull at your cloak, unbuckle the deep green grieves from your legs. You lay back on the old lumpy bed, dirt and grime from the earlier battle coating your skin. You uncork the vodka and take a deep pull, allowing your head to roll back. Bucky stares at the way your throat rolls with the swallow, takes in the lines of your jaw and how your full red lips wrap around the neck.

Bucky loves fucking you after a battle, loves the way he can feel the electricity of your power emanating beneath your skin. The sweat and blood in your hair. When he notices Steve watching you from the corner of the room, lip tucked between his teeth. He realizes he’s not alone in that desire.

“We never celebrated New Years,” you murmur, trailing a long finger across your mouth.

Bucky climbs onto the bed and hovers above you. “Happy New Year, then,” he says playfully before kissing you on the lips. Steve is already three steps behind him.

They’re gentle with you at first, fingers and mouths trailing carefully along your thighs and biceps.

You whine against Steve’s mouth, bite down on his lower lip to catch the swell of it between your teeth. “I’m a God,” you whisper. “I’m not made of glass.”

Steve exhales hard and fast, a moment of surprise darkens his brow before he’s gripping you roughly and yanking you to him.

Bucky chuckles against your ear. “We know, darlin’, we’re just savoring you.”

He puts one hand in your hair and pulls your head back, mouth biting and licking the tender skin of your throat. He grips your chin and kisses you from behind, plunges his tongue into your mouth as you swallow him down.

You’re held between them, one leg pulled over Steve’s hips as Bucky pushes you into him. Steve runs his hand down your chest, palms skating across the engraved emerald leather of your curiass. Bucky’s hands catch under the faulds of the short skirt. This warrior queen between them. This goddess who has betwitched them entirely.

The two of them have slept with you enough to know how to undo your uniform in minutes. The first few times usually left them red face and frustrated as they pulled limply at your armor. Not now, though. Now, they’re pushing and pulling you between them. Unbuckling and untying and ripping off fabric and leather and chainmail.

Bucky grinds his hips into your ass, so that you can feel the hard line of him. Steve grips your face and kisses you, growling into your mouth. Once you’re naked, they go to work.

They touch you differently but, with the same reverence. Bucky is playful, passionate and teasing with his mouth biting at your neck. Steve is more brutal, pinching and twisting, nails scraping until he closes his teeth around your nipple and sucks. You hiss, twisting against them and Bucky slides his fingers between your legs, drawing hard circles around your center. Steve’s hand joins, dipping inside and back up again along the slickness of you. Bucky travels down your body, tongue licking up your center, one finger pushing up and inside you and you’re arching, crying out as Steve holds you upright.

He grins against you and locks his lips around your clit. He knows how to do this. Knows he can at least give a little something like this to you that Steve hasn’t learned yet.

“Oh  _fuck_ , Bucky,” you hiss as two of his fingers go inside you now, crooking into your sweet spot.

They take you like that until you come, shivering around Bucky’s fingers, tongue flicking up while he sucks harder and moans his approval. You’re keening, body vibrating, fingers gripping his hair and another hand fisted in Steve’s. It makes him proud to bring you pleasure like this – to make you feel good.

He pulls his face up and smirks up at you, smug grinned and wet. “Who would’ve thought I could make a goddess come, Stevie?” he drawls.

You huff, heavy-lidded and mouth agape from your previous orgasm. “Shut up, Barnes.”

He laughs and rises up to kiss you, allows you to taste yourself on his tongue. He’s only ever done this to a couple other gals and not one of them tasted like you. Honeyed, raw. The brief undercurrent of power. Not one of them looked like you in the heat of it. Hair messy, eyes glassy and lips swollen. The arch of your back, the white bite of your teeth.

Before you can steady your breathing, you’re crying out because Steve has pushed two fingers inside you, an aftershock causing you to twitch. He smiles against your neck, bites the soft skin beneath your ear and Bucky has the nerve to laugh.

_Who would have thought that little Stevie G would be that cheeky?_

“You’ve been teaching him some things,” he remarks as he slides his fingers down to meet Steve’s hands. It’s too much for you and you slump into him, pressing a trembling hand against his chest.

“I wasn’t completely clueless, jerk,” Steve snaps. “I was traveling with a bunch of chorus girls for a few months.”

You lift yourself up, turning around to glare at him. “Give me their names,” you hiss, the swell of pink light illuminating your fingertips and pupils.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Steve hushes you, wrapping a strong hand around your face and bringing your mouth to his. “It’s only you. It’s always you.”

“Forever?” you whisper.

“Forever,” Bucky repeats.

And the three of them hold onto each other – sweat-riddled and breathless – their hearts hammering in the dark.

* * *

_February 1945_

_The Alps_

“Sure you don’t want my help?” you ask quietly. The three of you gaze down the side of the mountain. Sheets of snow and ice. Rock and tree. It’s high. Very high and Bucky thinks his stomach might drop out the second he has to fly down on that dismal piece of rope.

“We got this, sweetheart,” Steve replies, tugging at the rope to make sure it’s secure.

“Plus, we need you to protect us if shit goes south up here,” Monty hollers from behind you. He’s busily cleaning his guns and you roll your eyes.

“We gotta split the muscle,” Dugan teases. “You up here and Steve down there.”

“What the fuck does that make me?” Bucky gripes, sliding a hand through his hair.

“You’re strictly sidekick material, Barnes,” Morita says.

“He is not!” you exclaim. “He’s Captain America’s Right Hand Man! Defeater of Injustice! Sniper of our Hearts!” You wrap your hands around his neck and kiss him loudly on the cheek. “Or so all the papers say.”

Bucky flushes and tightens his arms around your waist. His cocky bravado long forgotten when it comes to you giving him praise. You’re simply too much. Too powerful. Too beautiful. Too perfect for him.

Morita snorts. “Exactly! Sidekick!”

You stick your tongue out at him and run a smooth hand through Bucky’s hair. He glances down at you – watches snow cling to your lashes, the tip of your nose and bottom lip.

“Don’t tell, Steve but, I wouldn’t mind you coming down with us,” he whispers against your ear. “Always feel a lot better when you have my back, doll.”

You snuggle against him. “I can still come,” you murmur. “Fuck Steve and his stupid commands.”

He chuckles. “We really shouldn’t have taught you all those words.”

You smile up at him, lick your lips and press your mouth against his throat. “But, you love when I use the word  _fuck_.”

Bucky swallows thickly, feels the telltale hardening in his groin and closes his eyes.

“Couldn’t you wait to seduce me until after the mission,” he asks huskily.

“No,” you reply simply. “Goddess of Love and War, remember? The two go hand in hand, my darling.”

Before he can respond to you, Steve interrupts.

“It’s time to go. Train is only five out.”

“Alright,” Bucky sighs, feeling an unexpected rumble of uneasiness in his stomach. Something is off and yet he cannot pinpoint what.

Steve leans forward to kiss your forehead and tucks a strand of hair behind your ears.

“You good?” he asks.

“I’d feel better if I went with you,” you pout.

“We’ll be careful,” he promises.

“Survived this long, right?” Bucky grins, grabbing you around the waist and pressing his mouth to yours. It’s a quick kiss – hurried and harsh.

He tastes the snow between your lips, feels the dampness of your lashes against his cheek.

“I love you,” he breathes.

* * *

When Bucky falls from the train, he almost expects it. Almost.

He regrets not listening to that stabbing moment of unease that had left him sick before he left the mountainside. Before he left you.

When he falls, he thinks of you. Thinks of Steve.

When he wakes up in the snow, bleeding and in the most pain he’s ever been in in his life, he thinks of you.

When he manages to pull himself up, clasp his hand to his bleeding stump, and crawl through the ravine, he thinks of you. He collapses beneath a green pine and from the ground he calls to you. Tries to scream your name though his voice is burned out and raw from hypothermia.

Of all people, you should be able to hear him.

But, you don’t.

When they drag him through snow and ice and rock, he thinks of your mouth on his and you in that blue dress. It makes him cry and his tears freeze to the skin of his cheeks.

When they use the bone saw on his ripped skin, he fantasizes about you again. Thinks of you round with his kid with roses in your hair. He thinks of your blue cloak.

He doesn’t forget you until Hydra finally wipes your face from his brain in 1959.


	6. Chapter 6

“Absolutely not,” Steve growls.

“Look, Cap. Her entire life was missions before…well, before we lost her. It’s bound to jog a memory,” Tony explains.

“She doesn’t even know what’s she’s doing,” Steve retorts. “How will she be able to stay in control in the field?”

“Thor’s been helping her.”

Steve snorts and turns back to the mission reports spread out on his desk.

“Ah,” Tony says knowingly. “A little jealous are we?”

Steve’s head snaps around – his brow dark, his jaw tensing beneath his skin.

“No,” he growls. “Why would I be jealous?”

Tony shoots him a perplexed look before he marches over to him.

“Oh, I don’t know, Rogers,” he replies exasperated, clapping his hands together. “Maybe, because the love of your fucking life is back from the dead and you have done nothing but, ignore the poor girl since she’s been back.”

“She’s not-“

Tony cuts him off, his face a hair breadth from his own.

“Don’t,” he warns. “Don’t make excuses. I get that her death made you go a little insane.”

Tony doesn’t miss the way Steve’s mask slips at that – the slight shadow of shame and fear that dapples his eyes.

_What had Steve done that was so terrible?_

Tony remembers the weeks that followed you dying. The sheer darkness that had enveloped the entire compound. Steve had returned from Norway, the site of your death, and immediately gone to the roof and howled.

Natasha had been desperate to try and comfort him – to make him see reason but, he was beyond help. Nearly mad with grief.

He had refused to change. His uniform still splattered with your blood. He had smelled like death, redolent and muggy. Rust and wet manure.

_“C’mon, Steve,” Nat coaxes. “She’d want you to live – she wouldn’t want this.”_

_Steve rounds on her, lips curling over teeth in a predatory slip of teeth._

_“You didn’t fucking see it, Nat,” Steve snarls, grasping her by the elbows and hauling her against the wall._

_Tony and Sam are already behind him, yanking uselessly at his arms. Steve ignores them, his gaze distant as if he can’t see any of them at all. And then, just as suddenly as his anger overtakes him, his face crumbles._

_“There was nothing sweet or gentle about her death. She died screaming with blood spilling from her mouth and her body on fire,” he sobbed. “She died in my arms and all I could do was watch.”_

_Nat blanches - her eyes glossy and red. She pushes pitifully at Steve’s chest, a whine falling from her lips._

_“By the time you got there, she was already rotting,” he whispers harshly before releasing her. She slides down the wall, wrapping her arms around her legs as Steve shoved Tony aside and stomped back to his room where Bucky hadn’t left._

The next day, both he and Barnes had disappeared with Natasha claiming that Steve and Bucky had gone to “find peace or Jesus or something” on some mountaintop.

They were gone for six months only to return seemingly more fucked up than when they had arrived.

 _But, what had they actually been doing_?  _Tony doesn’t know and doubts he ever will._

Tony turns to Steve who has grown silent, his fists clenched to the point where his knuckles have gone white. He swallows deeply and Tony sighs before carefully placing a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

He thankfully doesn’t shrug it off.

“I know it’s hard for you to believe,” Tony says gently. “I know that. Trust me. But, you have her back. You’ve gotten a second chance at this. Maybe, try a little harder.”

“I don’t know why I can’t believe her,” Steve breathes. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me?”

He rubs at his eyes – the lights from the office catching the wetness on his cheek.

“We were so close to a happy ending,” he continues so quietly that Tony strains to hear him. “So close – and, again, the world saw it fit to take her away from me.”

Before he can respond, Steve flips another switch. He offers Tony a grim smile, straightens his shoulders and strides towards the door. The mask yet again slipping back into place.

A beat of silence before he calls to Tony over his shoulder.

“Tell her to be ready in fifteen.”

Tony grins.

“Making progress, at least,” he murmurs to himself.

 

* * *

 

Steve tightens the straps of his shield holder on his forearm.

1… _2…3…breathe_

He busies himself with checking the jet path, mindlessly plays with the controls. He can see Sam staring at him out of the corner of his eyes.

“You alright, man?”

“Yes,” Steve snaps.

“Really?” Sam wonders, concerned. “Because you’ve been flicking the overhead light on and off for the past five minutes.”

Steve glares at him and Sam shrugs his shoulders before shooting Bucky a confused look. Bucky merely shakes his head – he’s not totally oblivious to Steve’s nerves. He knows him better than anyone.

A peal of laughter echoes from right outside the Quinjet. Clear and light as a bell.

_Oh, he remembered that sound. Remembered it like it was the melody to his favorite song – the kind that could transport him back to the first time he heard it._

Steve swiftly turns back to the control panel – suddenly desperate to be away from you. He does not want to see you.

He hears your boots, the familiar pattern of your tread. Thor and Natasha right behind you.

“I did not do that,” you exclaim, aghast.

“Yep, you did,” Natasha assures you. “Totally snapped one of Ultron’s robots heads off with your bare hands and put it on a stick. I think it’s still in your bedroom. You used it as a paper weight.”

“Wow,” you murmur. “I thought that was an old Halloween decoration.”

Steve can hear Thor chuckling next to you, his voice low and slightly heated. “You always had battle in your blood, little one. That never changed.”

A wave of jealousy – thick and bitter - overcomes him. Practically drowns him and he shakes his head trying to quell it. He catches Bucky’s eye and the same green envy is mirrored there.

_He cannot do this here._

Blessedly, the telltale sound of Tony’s robotic feet hit the jet ramp and he strides inside. AC/DC plays low from the interior of his suit.

“Alright, Cap,” Tony hollers. “What’s the plan?”

A little reluctantly, Steve turns around to face everyone. When he catches your eye, his mouth goes dry, his cheeks flush and his stomach clenches.

You’re dressed in your suit and it’s like everything he had tried so desperately to forget overcomes him in a maddening haze of blackness.

_“What do you think?” you singsong as you twirl into Steve’s room. It was sparse: a writing desk, drawing pencils, a plain bed with a thin Navy duvet. They had only moved to DC a few weeks ago to work for SHIELD along with Natasha. He wasn’t used to having his own space – let alone an entire apartment. Well – a shared apartment._

_You had moved in with him when he asked. Zero hesitation._

_His mouth drops open. “Where did you get that?”_

_“Tony made it for me,” you announce giddily, running your hands over your new uniform. “He wanted to modernize my old one.”_

_It was certainly much more modern. The new suit clings and stretches to fit perfectly over your body - colors of green and blue shimmer like a storm soaked sky. A cowl connected to your shoulders covers your head. It is the same color as your old cloak – twilight violet, blue. A lock of your hair falls over your forehead and he itches to move it._

_Steve swallows thickly –taking it all in: the tight bodice, feohls that flare out over Kevlar pants. Your slim, highs boots are still the same as they rise up over your knees._

_“Well?” you press. “Does it look good?”_

_Steve smiles and strides up to you – gently he traces a hand over your stomach, feels the strong emerald material unyielding beneath his callused fingers._

_“You look better than good,” he mumbles, heatedly. You immediately gaze up at him, eyes darkening beneath thick lashes, a soft gasp escaping your lips._

_It was all still so new. Being alive and with you finally. They had saved New York but, he had yet to make a move beyond carefully placed touches. So far, the two of you spent the evenings you had off (aka not hunting bad guys) playing board games or cooking. Mostly it was you teaching Steve about pop culture: making him watch important movies, and listening to music. He was fairly certain that Texas Chainsaw Massacre was not an important movie but, who was he to argue._

_The fact was, was that you seemed fine with keeping their relationship platonic, which in turn, made Steve scared shit-less. He worried that maybe he had missed his shot. Maybe, you had gotten over him years ago. Maybe, when Fury had reunited you with him at the gym that day in New York he should have gathered you in his arms and kissed you senseless._

_Maybe, things were different without…Bucky._

_But, you gasping beneath his gaze tells a different story._

_Ever so slowly, he backs you up into a wall, places his palms behind your head to shield your skull from smacking against it._

_“Steven…” you whisper, soft and full of promise and his heart sings inside his chest._

_“I missed you,” he breathes. “I miss you now. I miss you every day.”_

_“You have me.” You wrap your hands around his neck, finger the short hairs there._

_“Not all of you.” He leans his head towards yours, breathes heat against your ear. “Not yet.”_

_You tighten your hands around him, drag him forward so hard that his chest bounces against yours. “Then take me,” you sigh. “I’ve been waiting, Steve. For so long.”_

_Your voice cracks._

_“For so fucking long, Steve -_

_He silences you with his mouth. His hands grip your jaw and pull you to him. He feels the tears from your cheek wet his skin and he promises himself that he will never leave you again. He kisses you with everything he has. It’s a frantic coupling – sloppy with tongue and teeth._

_It’s desperate and he relishes in it._

_Relishes in you and how for the first time since he was drawn from the ice – he feels alive._

“Earth to, Cap,” Tony shouts. “What’s the game plan?”

Steve blinks rapidly – erasing the fog of the heartbreaking memory of your mouth on his. His ears nearly turn bright red when he realizes that everyone is staring at him. Your brow is drawn in concern, your long sword ­–  _that sword_ \- is balanced against your hip. Your arm is lazily draped over the back of Bucky’s chair, his metal hand unconsciously fingering the faulds of your skirt.

He knew Bucky and you had had some sort of heart to heart. Bucky had come running into his room five minutes after Steve had returned from a mission – excitedly explaining that he had told you everything.

No, you hadn’t remembered any of it but, he had a feeling that something was going to be shaken loose. Bucky knew it – could see it in the way your eyes flickered and mouth parted when he told you. He had begged Steve to also talk to you – tell you his side. But, he wasn’t – wasn’t sure if he was willing to relive all of that with someone who might not even be you. Selfish? Yes. He knew he was being an awful, horrible person. But, Steve Rogers was no long the same kind-hearted hero he was a few years back. A darkness, inescapable and painful, had carved its way into his heart and remained there.

Steve had merely shaken his head. Bucky could believe what he wanted to believe.

Steve clears his throat and turns his Captain mask back on.

“We received Intel that there is a hidden lab in Odessa that specializes in human experimentation. From what we’ve been told, the place is a stronghold outside the city and completely guarded. We called in everyone because we will need to explore the entire facility – get out prisoners, gather whatever information we can, and take down any hostiles.”

“Basically, a Monday,” Sam chirps, fixing his goggles.

“Yes – it’s pretty run of the mill,” Steve agrees. “Tony and Sam – you take the exterior and take over the control system and any hostiles on the outside. Wanda and Nat will look for prisoners. Thor and Vision will take the West Side of the facility.”

“And me?” you cut in, eyes widening when you realize you’ve interrupted him.

Steve narrows his eyes at you before turning to Bucky.

“You’re with me and Buck.”

“Ooh – very old school,” Tony chuckles and Steve ponders sending his shield into his arc reactor.  

 

* * *

 

The mission is going alarmingly well. You had been nervous, of course. You and Thor had only been working on your powers for two months. Bucky had opted to help you with hand to hand combat.

Working with both had been surprisingly…easy. It was as if your body knew what to do before your head did. After three rounds of sparring with Barnes, you had had him on the floor, hands around his throat and him grinning up at you like a dumb idiot.

Your strength was simply out of this world. When Thor had handed you the sword that you apparently had been carting around since the dawn of time, you had audibly gulped. The thing was as big as your leg. But, as soon as your hands wrapped around the hilt, the metal had hummed, vibrating with some old, familiar song. It was like placing your fingers into a well-worn glove and you lifted it as easily as a thick twig.

Now, you admire it like a lost lover. Runes are etched up the blade – only visible in certain lights. An emerald shimmers from the center of the pommel. Thor had told you that this sword had been gifted to you by Odin himself. His cheeks had nearly cracked at how wide he was smiling when he handed it to you. It was  _slightly cute_.

You were thoroughly not interested in digging further into the fact that they had told you, you were a god. Your mind was still a mess of cluttered memories and feelings – bits of images that made no sense. You didn’t have the capacity to process the fact that you were immortal and on top of that, have had a deeply passionate relationship with two men.

One of whom, could barely stand in the same room with you.

You glance over at Bucky and Steve. They’re fighting in tandem, winding between each other as Bucky takes out guard after guard with his gun and then a knife. Steve takes out just as many with his shield. The idea of you sandwiched between them, being fucked by both sends your heart into overdrive. If they can’t fuck like they fuck then you’re doomed. The idea alone causes you to stumble over a fallen hostile, nearly face planting.

“Please, pay attention, sweetheart,” Bucky hollers at you.

“Sorry!”

A bullet whizzes past your head and you duck. Another comes. Then another. You lift your sword and watch as they bounce off the blade in flash of sparks. You march towards your assailant, rip his gun from his hands and punch him hard in the face. His teeth break under your fist, a howl ripping from his throat.

You sense another behind you and turn around, roundhouse kicking him into the back wall where he falls to the floor in a crumpled heap.

The building shakes, lightning pounds throughout the hallway outside the door. Thor is obviously not holding back.

The rough grate of shifting concrete sounds above them and all three stare up.

Concealed panels in the wall pull back, revealing heavy guns. Immediately, they shoot forward taking aim by locking onto your heat signatures.

“Take cover!” Steve shouts. You slide over a metal desk, tipping it over to make a quick shield The thick onslaught of bullets cause the table to shake violently against your back. Quickly, you lift your sword to catch the reflection of the room against the blade.

You memorize the guns locations, their rate of fire, the speed at which they can swivel and the angle of their bodies. It becomes second-nature. To act on instinct and before Steve can scream at you, you’re pushing yourself over the table, climbing the wall and yanking the first gun out of its holder, breaking it between your fingers like a ball of wet sand.

You turn to the next and lift your hand – pink light spilling from your palm as it wraps around the next gun and shatters it into bits. You reach behind you and do the same for the next.

You smirk as you drop to the ground, flip your sword in your grip and steady your hands on your hips. Your expression is swiftly wiped off your face when you notice Steve staring at you like you’ve just murdered his dog. He stalks towards you, mouth set in a furious scowl.

“Do you enjoy trying to get yourself killed,” he barks.

You shrug. “Sorry – I was acting on instinct.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” he continues, gripping you hard around your arms. “You could have blown this whole god damn operation by “acting on instinct”.”

Bucky is behind him, staring between the two of you – seemingly unsure if he should butt in.

“Steve – she just saved our asses,” he states calmly. “Lay off.”

Steve rounds on him, his body nearly shaking in anger. “Funny – you used to be the more protective one,” he hisses and Bucky’s mouth drops open.

Before you can cut in, the lights overhead flicker before shutting down entirely. One of Stark’s missiles must have taken out of the power grid. A second later, emergency lights bathe them in a hellish red glow making Steve’s angry expression all the more scary looking.

You’ll remind yourself to apologize later.

“Let’s go,” Steve snaps. “We still have to check the main laboratory.”

 

* * *

 

“According to the map, the lab is supposedly inside this door,” Steve whispers.

The red light in the hallway is flickering on and off. A distant alarm is ringing throughout the corridor. The entire building is nothing but, heavy metal doors, iron bars and walls of concrete. It’s decked out artillery but, all that you’ve seen are guards. No hostages or evidence of experimentation.

“On my count,” Steve says. “1..2 – “

You break the heavy lock with your hand, and shoulder the door open.

“What the fuck!” Steve hisses. “Wait for my –“

But, you’re already inside. The room is pitch black, the taste of dust and mildew souring your tongue.

“It’s emp-

A fist rises from the darkness and smashes into your chest – causing you to crash into the wall. Pieces of cement fall like ash over your shoulders and coat your hood – making your eyes burn.

“Shit!” Bucky bellows, racing towards you and gripping you under the arms so he can haul you up and against him.

“You okay?” He delicately runs his hand through your hair, feelings your skull for injuries.

“Fine,” you huff, pressing a shaky hand to your chest. “Just surprised.”

Suddenly, the room is bathed in light. Harsh fluorescent streams of yellow and white blind them momentarily. Bucky hauls you behind him and Steve is at your shoulder, his eyes wild beneath the helmet.

There are six guards ahead of them, decked out in weapons. Machine guns are planted in their hands. Red and black uniforms and masks cover their faces.

The telltale skull of Hydra shines bright and ferocious on their armor.

Steve moves forward before coming to an immediate halt. You scoot around him to look at what’s stopped him. His eyes are glued to a man who has appeared out of the shadows.

He’s dressed in a simple black sweater and dark pants. He’s bull-thick through his chest and shoulders – massive compared to the men who crowd around him. But, his face. His face is something else.

He’s beautiful – unnervingly so. A strong nose, sharp jaw line and sharper cheekbones, a cleft chin. On his head, is a thick wave of dark brown hair with a strand boyishly curling over his forehead. He smiles at you, white teeth lambent against his skin and his blue eyes – nearly nightfall dark – gleam red momentarily.

A note of caution, a dull and wordless echo that you feel rather than hear burns at the back of your mind. He smiles at you like he knows you. The faint scent of wildfire hits the air and you back away – feel Steve pressed against you, his heart hammering wildly.

You look back at him in confusion and his entire face has drained of color. His eyes wide and agonized.

“No..,” he murmurs so softly that you barely catch it. Bucky stiffens next to you, his metal arm whirring and vibrating. You can hear the rough gritting of his teeth.

“Oh hello,  _elskan mín,”_ the man calls to you. “I have missed you terribly.”

You shiver as the reverence of his voice dips beneath your skin. The slight softening of the consonants, the roll of his tongue and languid cadence as if he is sifting his mouth through honey.

There is something about him. Something haunted and holy and the memory hits you hard enough to double over.

_His hands run over your jaw, gripping your chin. His eyes boring into your own._

_“C’mon, darling,” he drawls. “You know I don’t want to do this to you.”_

_You spit in his face and he laughs. Booming and threatening as he fists his hands into your hair. The stream of slides down the gorgeous mask, his lips peel apart revealing something wicked._

_Another image. Another flash._

_You can feel the poison eat away at your belly. It’s destroying you. The pain is immeasurable. Unbearable. Your eyes roll back into your head as you cling to the cold ground to anchor yourself._

_You can smell your death approaching._

_“So, this is what it feels like,” you murmur as your eyes slide shut. Copper and metal overwhelming your senses. A river of red blood slips down your chin._

Your eyes open and you’re on the ground – a pair of heavy arms are wrapped around your waist and pulling you against a hard chest.  

You look up and Steve is staring down at you, his expression clearly relieved that you’ve opened your eyes.

The stranger hums in approval and you glance back at him, your fingers digging into Steve’s Kevlar coated arm.

“I see that you’re remembering,” he observes smoothly. “Good.”

Bucky pushes himself forward to block you from his view. The man’s expression darkens considerably and he merely steps to the side to catch your attention.

“You and I have unfinished business,” he demands, his eyes narrow on yours so intensely you feel him reach inside of you. You feel him pulling. You press your face against Steve’s chest.

“Listen, you motherfucker,” Bucky snarls. “You don’t fuck with her unless you want to fuck with us and I can promise you that the end result won’t be pretty.”

The man shoots Bucky an irritated grimace before ignoring him once again. He turns back to stare at you, to study you. He chuckles low, an empty sound that is patched with some dark amusement you cannot fathom.

“Not yet, Amora,” he promises and his voice echoes inside your skull. Your hands grip your ears to block him but, it only gets louder.

Steve is holding you so tightly it hurts as his lips breathe against your temple. “Don’t listen. Try not to listen.”

It doesn’t work, barely soothes you because the voice pulsates.

“Not yet, _elskan mín,”_ It murmurs evenly, possessively.  “But, soon.”

“We’re leaving,” Steve finally says shakily, he tugs you up to him, lifts you into his arms. “We’re getting you away from h-him.”

Numbly, you feel Steve’s arms tighten around you as he races out of the door. Bucky close on his heels. In the distance, you can hear the man’s laughter on the wind – melodic and cheerful and deadly.

Steve’s boots pound on the cement as he climbs the steps leading to the roof. His breath is heavy and heartbeat frantic.

Tony’s voice lights up on the coms – shaking you from your daze. “You guys almost out? We found no prisoners – no experiments - not sure why the Intel said otherwise.”

“I can guess,” Bucky growls sharply from behind you.

“It was another trap,” Steve mumbles – numbly.

“To what end?” Bucky replies. “He didn’t try and take her.”

“No,” Steve grunts. “He just wanted  _to see her_.”

You’re nearly drowning in confusion. You pull at the straps on Steve’s vests and he looks down at you sadly. His mouth soft. He looks so lost it unnerves you.

You feel Steve’s foot hit the edge of the roof as he launches them both into the air, missing the razor wire of the electric fence that surrounds the facility. His hand catches a tree branch to slow their fall and you bounce in his arms, clinging tightly to his neck. His breath fans lightly across your cheek.

“You’re alright,” he soothes you.

He strengthens his hold around your waist and drops to the ground – his boots kicking up mud from where they land. The Quinjet is already powered up and Nat is beckoning to them from the door.

Steve hauls you into the jet, setting you down on one of the seats in the back. Thor appears next to him, his eyes alarmingly searching your body for injuries.

“Is she alright?” he practically yells, making you wince.

Steve ignores him, instead he reaches for you. His hands slide over your arms, your shoulders, the curve of your neck. Finally, he looks up at you – his blue eyes dull and lifeless. The previous events – that man – had obviously shaken him. You yearn to comfort him, to get lost within those depths of his. You long to make them gleam.

He cups your cheeks gently.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs.

“Yes,” you reply nervously, still thoroughly stunned at his closeness, his concern. “Who was that man?”

Steve frowns, pulling his full lower lip between his teeth. Bucky appears from behind him – his expression still panicked.

“Who was that man, Steve?” you ask again.  _He knew you._

You place your hands on his cheeks, gently trace the lines of his features. You massage the fine arch of his cheekbone and he closes his eyes and ever so lightly leans into it. When you run your thumb along his plush lip he sighs and stares up at you.

“Tell me, Steve,” you whisper.

Steve exhales loudly, runs a shaky hand through his golden hair.

“He was the one who took you,” Steve reveals, pained. “He was the one who killed you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> elskan mín - my darling (or love) in Icelandic


	7. Chapter 7

The lake at the compound gleams bright; it’s a shimmering surface of grey against the reflection of the sun. Broken patterns of light and water. It looks inviting. You ponder diving in – dunking your head until you’re fully buried beneath silt and lake water. Stones in your pockets. Anything would be better than this endless black sea of confusion.

You glance at Steve who has remained stoic and silent since they had arrived back at the compound. Wordlessly, he had followed you to the lake when you asked. Perhaps – finally giving in to you. Bucky had squeezed your hand – assuring you he would talk to you later. You suppose Steve needed you now. Something had changed in his disposition when he had seen that man. Something had altered him and now he looked at you with soft, sad eyes.

The world around them is quiet – too quiet. The absence of birds is noticeable. The forest surrounding the compound is usually filled with whippoorwills and crows, jays and woodpeckers. Not now.

Finally – you turn to Steve.  He’s unsmiling, his eyes narrowed and perhaps you think you were mistaken. Perhaps, he wants nothing to do with you.

Endless months of anxiety and confusion come pounding down upon your head. You hear your breath hitch in your mouth, a fruitless gasp for air and your veins are standing out along your clenched fists. It’s all too much.

_He had killed you that man killed you and the man with the answers is staring at you like he wished you had stayed dead._

But, Steve does the unthinkable. He’s at your side immediately, tipping your chin up with his fingers so impossibly warm, his eyes worried. “Oh damn it. Breathe, sweetheart. Breathe. I’m right here.”

You swallow thickly, pulling yourself together long enough that you barely get the words out.

“Tell me about that man,” you plead. “Stop leaving me in the dark.”

Steve’s face is strained with agony but, he doesn’t pull away. Not yet.

You grasp his hands, twine your fingers with his. He lets you. “Please, Steve,” you beg. “I’ve had so many dreams. So many images that don’t make sense. You can help me.”

With a sigh, he releases you. He leans against the harsh bark of the tree behind him – runs a shaky hand through his hair. His lips are twisted in a permanent grimace that shatters the divine beauty of his face.

“He goes by the name Duke Ellison. He fought in World War II – moved to Hydra or was working for Hydra the whole time – we don’t know.” Steve peers at you, searches for any recognition on your face. “You knew him apparently. You worked together in the 60’s.”

“So what is he? A super soldier?” you ask. “He must be if he looks like that after 70 plus years?”

Steve bites his lip. “No,” he replies. “Not a super soldier.”

“Then what?” you snap – exasperated.

Steve shakes his head. “It’s best you remember that on your own.”

You throw your head back, something like a grumbled scream sounds from your throat. “God damn it, Stevie! Why can’t you just tell me? I’m so sick of people acting like I’m some piece of glass that will shatter at the mention of a memory.”

Steve is silent and when you look at him, his eyes are round and huge in his head.

“What?”

“You called me Stevie,” he says softly.

You press a finger to your mouth – stunned. “I did?”

“Yes.”

“Must have heard Bucky call you that,” you quip defensively before facing away from him.

“No – I don’t believe that’s true,” he observes. “You said you had dreams?”

“Yes.”

He sidles up next to you, the heat of his body emanating in waves. “Tell me about them,” he demands.

You look up at him beneath your lashes – vexed by how close he is. “They’re just flashes. Three people in a bed. Me in a swamp. A beach. White sands and turquoise water.” Your face grows hot as you recount more details. “I remember foods – weirdly. Ice cream. Spaghetti. Lots of oranges.”

You don’t tell him about the nightmares. The needles. The poison. Blood. So much of it.

“Oranges?” he repeats – awe painting his tone.

“Does that mean something?”

******

_Avignon, France_

_December 1944_

You manage to steal a bushel of oranges that are just ripe. They glow bright and effulgent like globes of flame in your brown satchel. You don’t tell them how you found them and they don’t ask. You toss them each one and the men stare back at you as if you are Diana herself, covered in buckskins and wolf blood – returning from the hunt.

You place one in Steve’s hand, your fingers gently brushing against his. The orange is cool and yielding in his grip and when he bites a wedge the juice bursts into his mouth in streams of honey sweetness and sour bite. Bucky looks at you with something akin to wonder, face smeared with softening orange fruit. 

In their tent, Steve puts you above him – strokes the soft meat of your thighs, grabs at the flesh of your hips to bring you down. It’s the best kind of pleasure, agony that rips him apart because the two of them – the three of them – are stalked by death every day and any moment could be the end of them. Every moment inside you could be the last.

For a while it’s too much for you. Steve gets shot in the shoulder during a raid and passes out from blood loss. You’re a mess – desperately pressing your hands to his wounded shoulder as you scream for Morita to fix him. Afterwards, you tell both him and Bucky that you don’t know if loving them is such a good idea – you’ve never felt like this before, never felt death so closely.

“This can’t end well,” you murmur against Steve’s shoulder after he tugs you to him.

They beg you not to worry and you laugh in response – dry and brittle and bitter.

“My loves – what do you know of death?”

What do they know? Everything. Have they not been in this war for nearly two years. They know the smell of blood, of piss and shit when a man releases his bowels at the brink of expiring. They’ve seen men screaming - broken open with faces disfigured by pain. Lost limbs, torn organs, intestines bursting out of bellies.

This war has taught them everything they need to know about death.

They tell you as much but, you’re immovable. You avoid them for a few days and it’s utter hell. Bucky is desperate for you – his eyes a consistent shade of watery red. Steve is hardly any better – unable to concentrate on the plans for the next mission.

You come to them on the fourth day – bottom lip trembling and tears at the corners of your eyes.

“What do you want?” they ask you softly – because it’s a loaded question.  _What will you take? What will you have?_

You push them into the tent – crush both of them to you.

“You. Both of you. Forever.”

And they take you again, right beneath the thin tarp of their tent, on the wet, icy ground of France. They devour you. The two of them splitting you apart and eating you alive because they are transfixed by you. In love with you.

You tell them that you have never felt this alive before. Never. Not once. You trail fingers over the tent skin and their biceps, creating pockets of warmth until the whole thing is engulfed in heat. Pink electricity and the smell of roses.

Yes the two of them understand they are stupid to love you. Foolish to give into these sugary hopes that they will have you at the end of it. And yet the three of them plot and narrate their future together.

You release your grip on Steve’s neck, run your hands over Bucky’s sweat-slicked biceps. When your head falls back against the pillow – splayed out and gorgeous you tell them that you’ll stay with them when it’s over. You’ll come to Brooklyn.

Steve recalls this night in perfect detail. Recalls how you formed globes of candlelight and made them float around them like fireflies. The flicker of them had reminded him of the silver-gold sunlight of the Atlantic on the shores of Coney Island.

**

“What’d Banner say?” Steve asks suddenly. “About your memories.”

A moment before, he had been lost in some hazy-eyed daydream. You’d almost thrown a twig at him.

“He says that ideally being around the team would help me remember,” you reply slowly. “He said you and Bucky would be the best people to talk to. Apparently you two knew me better than anyone.” Your eyes narrow and you frown. “You didn’t exactly make that easy for me –“

“I’m sorry about that.”

His voice is softer, nearer. You hear the whisper of his boots on manicured grass; the rich, earthen smell that clings to his body.

A beat of silence.

“Why have you been so mean to me?”

It comes out pitiful – whiney almost and you want to kick yourself for being so weak. You look up at him and he’s suddenly  _right there_. He searches your expression and you’re struck by how familiar his face is to you. The angle of his jaw, the color of his eyes, soft pillow lips.

“I saw you,” he replies, voice subdued. “After you died – I saw you every fucking day. You were so god damn real.”

“Steve…I mean that’s normal for people who are dealing with grief-“

“No!” he shouts and you find yourself being backed into a tree. His eyes are wild. “ You don’t understand - It wasn’t just a vision or a memory – it was you. Bucky would catch me talking to myself.” He turns away to stare at the lake, wetness underneath his eyes. He sniffs. “I would just talk to thin air as if I was talking to you and I honest to god thought I was. It took me a long time to exorcise you from my mind. Bucky and I…we did so many awful-“

“Shh, Stevie,” you press your hand to his lips. “It doesn’t matter what happened.”

He raises an eyebrow, lip curling ever so slightly. “You said my name again – the way you used to.”

“I meant it that time,” you shrug. You eye him carefully. “So you believe it’s me?”

He reaches for your hand and the effect is instantaneous. You tense, looking down at your small hand in his gloved one, his callused thumb pressing lightly against your knuckles. His eyes slide up your body until he meets your gaze.

His expression changes: the hard, steel of his expression slipping into something furtive and untouchable. You step away but, his grip only tightens. He’s standing so close to you that you can see the faint coating of his five o’clock shadow. His gaze is unyielding and you can feel your head swim – the scent of him swirls around the two of you. It’s clean. Sweat and boy.

Heat – molten and familiar – travels down your spin – warming your belly. His breath is warm and you find yourself pressing your palms against his chest – a wall of dark blue Kevlar-coated muscle.

The charge between them is violent – thicken and sodden and weighing you down. You’re trapped against him and the electricity has nowhere to go but, blossom and burn – an atomic bloom. You wet your lips and his eyes immediately are drawn to your mouth.

“I think I can jog your memories,” he says huskily – full of suggestion.

“H-how?”

His hands grip your hips before sliding up your back – knuckles grazing the knobs of your spine before coming to rest at the back of your neck.

Steve doesn’t answer – instead he leans forward and presses his mouth to yours. With his lips sliding along your own, you suddenly feel as if you have come home, as if latching yourself into a familiar bed.

He tugs your lower lip into his mouth, sucking and nipping gently. He tastes like mint and sweat – soap. Sweet cold sensations within two warm, wet mouths.

A whimper rises up from his chest and he crushes you to him harder – deepening the kiss. You moan into his mouth as he presses you into the tree, running his fingers up your sides. He thrusts his fingers into your hair possessively, tangling the locks between his sooty hands. He runs the tip of his tongue along your lip and when you yield to him – opening your mouth beneath his, he teases your tongue with his own.

He’s practically holding you up as he kisses you and it’s all so sweet. So tender – this patchwork man who reminds you of home and bliss and sultry things. Something snaps in your brain – a jolting tug. At first, it’s coaxing, slow – petting fingers. Then it hits you harder and you find yourself stumbling against him, lips tearing from his.

“Sweetheart?” he looks at you concerned. Your body shudders, vision swims with black spots.

You grip your head between your hands as the pain comes tenfold. “I don’t know – “

Another wave of pain explodes behind your eyes. Before you can fall to the ground, Steve is beneath you – his arms capturing your waist as he pulls you against him.

You swallow, blinking rapidly – holding onto consciousness. Your eyes find his and they’re wide – still lust blown but, now terrified. His lips are kiss-bruised and his cheeks flushed. Breath heaving.

Your mouth opens again to speak before it all hits you at once: memories and images slam into your head like a freight train. Your heads tips back as they drown you in darkness.

******

_Fury tells you before the papers do._

_His tone on the phone is excited – well as excited as Fury can get. “We found him.”_

_You feel your knees weaken. You think he means his body. You imagine him, frozen in ice and mangled by the wreck – his blue eyes open and staring into the endless dark of the Atlantic._

_“We’ve put him up in an apartment in Brooklyn. I’ll bring you to him.”_

_Your knees hit the floor hard enough to bruise. The phone shatters in your grip._

**

_You see him before he sees you._

_He’s sweaty and tense – you can sense it. The dim lighting shines down on him as he punches his way through bag after bag. He’s captured in gold – enthralling and glistening. You’ve never seen anyone so handsome in your entire life._

_You hear him speaking in a low, tired voice._

_“When I went under, the world was at war. I wake up, they say we won. They didn’t say what we lost.”_

_Your heart hurts for him._

_“Well – you didn’t lose everything,” Fury says cryptically._

_Steve gives him a weird look before turning around to where Fury’s gaze is hooked. You step out of the shadows. You’re certain you look at least somewhat different – tight jeans and a plan t-shirt are far cries form leather and cuirasses and gauntlets._

_Steve’s mouth drops open. His eyes glisten as he wordlessly dumps the punching bag (narrowly missing Nick’s feet) and strides towards you. You meet him halfway, slamming yourself full force into his body. He shoves his hands into your hair, catching and tugging as you breathe heavily against his throat._

_“Oh god, Steve,” you whimper. “Stevie.”_

_He’s trembling in your arms, his lips soft against your ear as he kisses your temple. He pulls you even closer if it’s possible, crushing you to his chest_

_“I thought I lost you,” he whispers._

_****** _

_You grip the bullet wound on your shoulder. With shaky hands you pull the metal object from your skin, watch blood catch in your nails._

_Steve is still fighting the assassin or as Nat called him “The Winter Soldier”_

_Stupid fucking name._

_You charge up to him, grip his metal arm between your fingers and shove him backwards. He goes tumbling, dark hair loose and that black mask falling with it._

_You’re quickly helping Steve up when the Soldier looks at you._

_And then all clear thoughts fly right out of your brain. Blue eyes. Glacial blue. Your breathing turns shallow as you take in the hard line of his jaw, that defined arch of his cheekbone and that sinful, pink mouth._

_“Bucky?” Steve calls to him – obviously just as stunned._

_Your heart is in your throat. You feel like you’ve been punched straight in the gut. You think you’re drowning._

_He looks between you and Steve – confusion and pain coloring his expression. He takes you in – searches your face._

_“Buck?” you whisper._

_“Who the hell is Bucky?” His deep voice answers, razor – edged and raw. The steely robotic mask comes down again and his expression changes back to blankness._

_He goes to fire at you  before Sam shoves him away._

_You don’t feel Rumlow’s hands clamping down on your wrists or his voice rageful in your ear. You don’t feel the skin of your shoulder stitching itself back together. You don’t feel Steve’s trembling fingers tracing your own inside the SHIELD van._

_You don’t feel anything at all._

_****** _

_It’s the 80’s and New Order is pumping through the dark club in Los Angeles._

_Your crow-black sequined dress is short – too short. Your heels pinch._

_Vodka rolls around in your belly, presses its fat weight within the interior of your head. The skin inside your nose burns from doing too much blow. The back drip makes you gag._

_**How does it feel** _

_**To treat me like you do?** _

_**When you’ve laid your hands upon me** _

_**And told me who you are** _

_Your eyes ache and you think maybe you should call Howard. LA has grown stagnant – too much booze and sun. Too much money and asphalt. Too much gasoline._

_You had dreamt of them again last night– your warrior soldiers. The pair of them loom large in the fog of your haunted brain. Every time, you wake up wet and aching – yielding for a desire you cannot sate. The memories of tender, brutal eyes in different shades of blue course through you sad and endless._

_Sometimes you awaken with the faint impression of phantom tears that you had long forgotten how to shed._

_You watch others dance and grind against each other – drug addled, smoke brained. Beneath colored lights, you recall another certain bleak loneliness. It was the kind of isolation you felt when you were trapped amongst the glittering ballrooms and endless traditions of royal celebrations in Asgard._

_Now, it had reinvented himself on Midgard. Your isolation has festered so deep it has become an abscess. Pus filled and engorged._

_You feel him before you see him. Strong hands wrap around your biceps. The taste of the storm blows through the doorway. Ozone – slick._

_You gaze up at him – his concern for you so raptly painted across his face._

_You lean towards him, your lips skimming his own. He pulls away – stunned – but, you hold him fast._

_“Make me forget,” you breathe into his mouth._

_Suddenly, he has you in the bathroom. Dark walls, cold tile and the bass pounding like a drum outside. Thor kisses you ferociously, hands slipping between your bodies to cup you through your underwear. He picks you up and the sink curves uncomfortably into your spine and ass. The backs of your thighs bruise on porcelain. In an instant, his cock is inside you and the pain shocks you – sprouts blush pink behind your tightly clamped eyelids. He’s huge and you haven’t fucked anyone for over a decade. He stills inside you, cups your cheeks and whispers soft-sounding words in the old language of Asgard._

_You arch into him as he begins to move slowly, withdrawing in long, delirious strokes until your pleading with him and he has to place his hand against your lips – sealing your mouth. You taste the salt of his palm – the electric jolt of his power as he thrusts frantically into you. He curses and grunts and you strain against him. Your release builds and you feel as if Thor has broken you open. You present yourself to him raw and needy, skin peeled back to reveal your rose-red sticky muscle and slippery tendon._

_He pulls out of you suddenly before getting on his knees. His mouth against your center as your fingers fist into his blonde hair. Energy, torrid and tender, spill from your fingers and singe his skin. He growls in satisfaction. His tongue enters you, hot and slick, and you buck against him. Legs like jelly as they clench around his head._

_He finds your clit, teases it with his tongue._

_“Say my name,” he rumbles against your cunt. “Say it, my love.”_

_“Thor,” you whisper._

_“Say it again.” His hands tighten around your thighs and your mouth falls open._

_“Thor.”  
_

_You taste blood and you realize you’ve bitten through your lip. His tongue laps at you again and the world purples as you come against his face._

_He takes you home that night, holds you in his arms - heavy and powerful. The smile on his face is so poignant that you nearly feel guilty._

_You had been meant for him. Once upon a time - you had been meant for him._

_It would have been so easy. So easy to have allowed that._

_In the morning, you throw the windows open and force the dawn to come through. Soft-peach clouds blush coral and amaranth. The breeze tastes your skin and Thor joins you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He takes in your dreamy, glassy-eyed gaze and suddenly knows that you were dreaming of someone else._

_The Captain and the Sergeant._

_He leads you back to the bed and, again, tries to make you forget._

_Tries to make you think of only him._

******

_The war has hurt you in more ways than one. It has weakened you considerably._

_France in 1944 is where you fall deeper and deeper for them._

_They celebrate in a small wood coated bar. Wood floors. Wood walls. Everything splashed with beer and brown liquor. They bring out a fine vintage just for you – the beautiful savior. The Goddess. You laugh despite yourself. Speak to them in perfect French. Between full lips, you puff smoke from Bucky’s cigarettes._

_You watch them – watch your boys sleep together on the bed. Steve is on his stomach, head pressed tightly to the tops of his hands. Bucky is spread out, legs wide and hair mussed. Sheets tether between them in white bondage._

_This old house in France has them playing at being domestic. It’s alarmingly unfamiliar and you know that Loki would be rolling his eyes at your own indulgence of this play act._

_“You were born for blood, my pet,” he’d whisper to you. “Born for war. Love was always the weak side of your coin.”_

_But, you did love them and what was wrong with love?_

_“Death,” you murmur to yourself as an answer because to lose them would be unthinkable. You were not built for heartbreak._

_The rooster crows outdoors, the air turns frosty and, in the quiet, in the dark, you marvel at your mortal men. The sleek muscle of their golden bodies: war torn and ragged but, still works of art._

_Deep down, you know that it will not be enough._

_Both of them – you are insane to love, insane to trust and they will inevitably be lost to the war._

_Bucky’s head rises up, he raises an eyebrow, runs his tongue along his sleep-worn lip. His white teeth gleam as he smiles, burning bright against the dark film of his inelegant beard._

_He stretches his hand out for you and you go to him without question._

_You always go to him_

_**_

_The memories never stop. They never stop after you lose them both._

_The phantom sensation of Steve’s lips against you knee lingers at the back of your mind. Bucky’s mouth hot and open against your throat. Nearly palpable. Your body aches for it. Your tongue is still heavy as you recall your last words to Steve when you had helped him onto that god forsaken plane._

_“I’m going with you, you fucking idiot,” you nearly screech._

_“Sweetheart, I’ve got this. This is my choice,” he says against your ear - voice wrapped in steel “I will come back to you. I promise.”_

_He kisses you breathless, his hand fisted in your hair._

_“I will come back.”_

_And then he hadn’t._

**

_You work for Peggy when she asks. London in the 60’s is a wild, roaring ride. Everything from fashion to furniture is in bright, primary colors. Shag rugs. Textures. Red. Blue. Yellow. White. Black._

_The Beatles play softly from the radio in the corner of her office._

_You don’t recognize the man sitting across from Peggy when you enter the room._

_He stares up at you and grins – his teeth lily white and reminiscent of shivering funeral blooms. He is handsome – darkly so. Cold, iridescent eyes that are so blue you catch yourself staring. His beauty is chaotic – spontaneous and wild. Slightly familiar._

_“Darling, this is Duke Ellison,” she proudly states. “I think you two will work well together. He was one of our greatest spies during the war.”_

_He touches his lips to the top of your hand, grips your fingers tenderly._

_“Pleasure to meet you,” he says breathily against your skin, New York accent distinct._

_A breeze ruffles the bark brown hair that curls against his forehead_

_****** _

_Both you and Duke roam Europe – removing leftover Nazi leaders and diplomats and really anyone considered a notch in the Axis of Evil. In Rome, they assassinate their intended target with quick precision. One of his guards manages to get a knife into Duke’s shoulder – blood seeps out thick, syrup-like and trickles down his white button-up._

_You drag him into your car to get back to the Hotel Eden. You’re in a lavender tulle swing dress – lace and a little bow at your waist – Duke is bleeding all over it. Everything is five-fucking-star when it comes to SHIELD_

_You drive fast through the winding streets of Rome, one hand on the wheel and the other one on Duke’s shoulder. He’s grinning like an idiot – laughing like this is the best time he’s had in ages._

_You catch site of a car following you and before you can warn him, he lifts his pistol and swings around. He blows out their tires. Blows out the driver’s head and his passenger’s. You look at him, raise an eyebrow._

_You hadn’t seen gunshot precision like that since…well you wouldn’t think of him._

_He chuckles again and you glare. “You’re absolutely deranged,” you say haughtily, though unable to conceal your wry grin_

“You wound me,  _chérie,” he pouts, thrusting out his lower lip. He stares at you harder and you find yourself staring back. His voice drop. “You and me. We’re one in the same.”_

His eyes glow like beacons in the darkness – you don’t realize you’ve stopped at your hotel until he opens your door.

You don’t ask him what his words mean.

**

_You press careful hands against the wound, watch the blood seep into the creases of your knuckles._

_“Tell me about the Howling Commandos,” he asks suddenly. “About Steve Rogers?”_

_Your head shoots up and it feels as if you have been shot. It cuts deep. **That name**._

_“I’d rather not,” you reply stiffly._

_His eyes soften and he grasps your hand in his. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”_

_“You didn’t.”_

_**You did.** _

_He touches your cheek – his breath fans across your face and your heart pounds loud enough for both of you to hear. You sigh, shaking your head- clearing the cobwebs and old ghosts that refuse to let you move on._

_Time for gods does not pass quickly. It sometimes feels as if it doesn’t pass at all._

_He smells like soap and tobacco – reminiscent of Steve and Bucky and their ability to make you dizzy with their scent.You don’t think. Instead, you find yourself grasping Duke’s chin and crushing your lips to his._

_Beneath lamp light, you let Duke take you. It’s quick and dirty and you just want to feel._

_Feel anything beyond this clean, cold nothing._

_His mouth is hot against your throat and you turn around. You don’t need to do this face to face. He slips his cock out and it falls heavy against your ass. He’s built like them – bulging pecks and a flat stomach and huge arms that wrap around your waist. His chest hair tickles your back, his tongue touches your earlobe and bites down. He makes fast work of both of you, pulling you to his chest as he fucks you rough and deep and hard. You spur him on with gasps and whimpers – his fingers find your clit and he strokes you to orgasm._

_In the morning, he holds you against him. You manage to wiggle out of his arms under the pretense that you need to check his shoulder._

_He pushes your hands away quickly._

_“It’s fine, darling,” he says. “Leave it alone.”_

_He flips you over and shoves  you back against the bed and fucks until you forget about bullet wounds and his cryptic words._

**

Your eyes flutter open, the night sky is black above and beyond you. A maw of stars. You’re laid across Steve’s thighs, his knee sharp against your back.

A gasp quick and guttural falls from your lips – his grip weighs heavy around you.

You clutch at your head, feel an onslaught of more to come.

Steve presses his lips to your temple. As your eyes sink back into your technicolor, surround sound history lesson, you struggle against him.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay.”

He lets you ride it out.

******

_You come to in Wakanda._

_Jungle drenched in alien artillery. You smell blood and burnt flesh. Electricity pounds feverish around your head as Thor releases you – Rocket bouncing off his shoulder. The trip back to Earth has made you dizzy but, you shake it off._

_You go into battle with Thor at your heels._

_In an explosion of pink – you bring down a group of outriders – watch them sizzle and smoke to ash beneath your fingers. When you glance up, Steve is staring at you. It’s perfectly sweet as his face attempts to remain the emblem of his stoic reserve that he only utilizes as the Captain._

_It doesn’t last long. Happy relief  blossoms across his expression as he fights towards you._

_Before you can speak, he has you in his arms and he kisses you breathless._

_“That was some entrance,” he teases._

_“Blame Thor,” you smile playfully – trying to forget that the world is on the cusp of ending._

_‘Where’s Buck?”_

******

_Pain – immeasurable and haunting grips you when Bucky collapses in your hands. Turns to dust._

_**No..no..not again..you won’t survive it again.** _

_He’s staring at you with panicked eyes; his lips fall open to speak. And then he disappears._

_Your voice escalates to a scream, then wears down to a hoarse rasp until you are left broken and sobbing on the ground, arms curled around your knees - whispering his name._

_You lift the dust to your face, cup it in your hands as you try and pick him back up. He gets on your face, your lips._

_Steve has to drag you away._

**

_“Let’s pretend,” Bucky rumbles against your stomach, pulling your tank top up so, he can feed on your breasts. One tit at a time. “Let’s play a little game.”_

_Steve glances at Bucky – raising an eyebrow. He’s reading The Wall Street Journal on his iPad. If only he needed little reading glasses – he’d look like a real dork._

_“What’d you have in mind,” you hum, your nipples wet and tender under his giving mouth._

_“I wanna pretend we’re trying for a baby,” he admits a little shyly._

_Your eyes widen and Steve drops his iPad. He immediately places it on his bedside table and turns towards you. Heat has flushed his cheeks, his pupils dilating all the way and Bucky gives him a perfectly knowing grin._

_“Okay,” you breathe, core clenching._

_It starts with kissing, messy and liquid as your cunt around Bucky’s fingers. His grabs your ass, clenching soft flesh as his tongue drives into your mouth. Then, he’s inside you, slipping and sliding, cock dragging over your clit and you cry for him. One..two..three centimeters slowly in and out while the both of you stare at each other long and deep._

_“Want to fill you up,” Bucky murmurs against your neck as Steve’s fingers rub against your clit. “Want you round with my kid, baby.”_

_And it’s so fucking sinful but, so fucking sweet at the same time and you don’t know what to do._

_They’re playing at domestic again except now it feels like their happy ending might actually last. If only Loki could see you now._

_Bucky pulls out of you and Steve’s right there, his cock stretching and filling your pussy so, he can take advantage. They work as a team, again using the same talent on the battlefield as they do in bed with you. Steve holds your thighs open, pulling gently out only for Bucky to sink into you again  As they switch off, desperate, low pleading noises sound from their chests. You’re whimpering, holding your arms tight around their backs and shoulders._

_You crush them against you, molding yourself to them – wishing you could be inside them instead of the other way around._

_“Fuck, Steve,” you whimper when he gets one particularly good stroke in. “Want you to come in me.”_

_“Yeah?” he asks huskily. “Can I? I want to, baby.”_

_Both of them fill you up, warm heat exploding in your belly with each release. All three of you are a mess of tangled limbs and fluids. Sweat and come and saliva._

_As you breathe heavily against them, you wonder when the three of you will do this for real._

**  

_The mission in Korea is nothing to write home about. You corner the Hydra guard in the cell, your sword hot in your hands. Before you can raise it, he blows bitter powder into your face. It scorches your nose and mouth – your eyes water and you stumble backwards._

_You drive your sword into his belly with a sharp cry._

_On the jet, you think you feel slightly better._

_Nat asks if you’re okay because your eyes look funny._

******

_Back at the Compound, Bucky greets you as soon as you land. He jogs up to you, heavy boots making echoes across metal. You don’t have a moment to breathe before he sweeps you up into his arms, wraps your legs around his waist and kisses you possessively._

_“Missed you so much,” he gushes, massaging the back of your neck. “How was the mission?”_

_“Some idiot blew pollen into my face,” you shrug. “Think I’m okay.”_

_Bucky stares down at you – fond and exasperated – it’s a look that is so profoundly him. It makes you ache a little bit. Bucky alive and perfect and concerned for your well -being.  Emphasis on Alive._

_“Let’s go find, Steve,” he replies, gripping your hand in his. “I think Tony’s throwing a Halloween party tomorrow. He said he needs you to help with…”_

_His voice trails off and the room spins. White light dotted with black. You stumble forward and Bucky is right there, arms around your waist._

_“Doll?”_

_Natasha is behind you, one arm on your back._

_“Shit – call Bruce,” she yells.”_

_“I’m fine,” you stammer weakly before collapsing against Bucky’s chest._

**

_“I never get sick,” you pout. “This is absurd.”_

_“Bruce said the pollen wasn’t poisonous.” Steve presses a wet cloth to your forehead. “Maybe being on Earth for so long has made you susceptible to the common cold.”_

_A wave of nausea overtakes you and you lean over to throw up. “Common cold, my ass,” you grumble as you wipe your sour mouth._

_Bucky jostles the bed as he sits down. His expression suddenly serious and excited all at once._

_“You don’t think..you could be?” He looks at you pointedly then at your stomach. Steve’s head whirls around to stare at you._

_“Huh?” You look down and touch your belly before realization hits you. “Oh! Oh..um no, I sort of can control that.”_

_He looks mildly disappointed and you frown. You bend forward and press one of your humid palms to his cheek. “ You know when you want to have demi god, super soldier babies running around – you just need to say the word. It’ll happen.”_

_He lights up, his smile breathtaking. “Why not today?”_

_You snort. “I can’t have sex right now, I feel like death warmed over.”_

_Bucky crawls over your bed, careful not to place his weight against you. “I don’t care, I wanna put a baby in you. It’ll be so pretty.”_

_You laugh again and grip his face. “Not right now. I thought we said we needed to retire first – at least some of us.”_

_Bucky glares over at your golden-haired boyfriend. “It’s cause Rogers is a workaholic.”_

_Steve ignores him, instead he hovers over you – rests his head against your stomach. You scratch his scalp and he hums appreciatively. “I’m okay with anything,” he says._

_Before you can reply, Friday speaks over the intercom._

_“Captain Rogers – you and Sergeant Barnes are needed on the Quinjet. Mr. Stark says wheels up in forty-five.”_

_Bucky groans into the duvet and you sigh._

_“Like I said – we don’t have time for babies.”_

******

_Friday warns you before the power goes out completely._

_“There are unauthorized personnel on the premises-“_

_**Then, nothing** _

_You’re filling your bathtub, hot steam clearing your heavy head. Gingerly, you wrap your silk robe around you and head for the kitchen. Your brain is foggy, your stomach cramping. You feel even weaker – weaker than you’ve ever been before._

_You don’t see the dark figure behind you until he hits you hard over the head. It’s not enough to knock you out but, the pain nearly blinds you and you fall forward – going straight into the glass table. Glass shards sprinkle your palms and wrists. Rivulets of blood drip down tour forearms as the man rounds on you again. You struggle against him – manage to slam your fist into his chest and send him flying into a wall._

_Blood from your head wound smears beneath your fingertips. You can’t see his face but, he’s strong. Stronger than Bucky or Steve. Stronger than Thor. He holds you there, weighted breath in your ear. Your powers burn your fingertips and as you raise your hand he hushes you._

_“None of that, darling.” He grins – his smile suddenly familiar._

_He injects a heavy metal chip into your neck – rendering your powers useless. Your eyes roll back into nothing._

**

_They wake you up somewhere cold. It’s a Hydra facility – that much you can tell right away. Your arms are locked tight, skin blistering as you chafe your wrists against metal cuffs. The chip in your neck stings and singes._

_“Hello, chéri,” a man purrs from behind you. Once he’s in your eyesight, your heart drops straight into your stomach._

_Smooth skinned and still darkly beautiful, Duke Ellison stares down at you._

_“What?” you stammer. “H-How?”_

_“You mean who,” he suggests smoothly. He runs a tender hand through your hair, fiendish smile lighting up his face._

_“Call me Tyr,” he says._

******

_“The two men are about two miles out, sir,” the guard at the door announces._

_Duke (Tyr) smiles. He holds an injection to the vein in your arm – the liquid is bright green. Absinthe green._

_“Right on time,” he says softly before piercing your skin with the needle._

_You don’t flinch. You don’t know how long you’ve been down here with this psychotic immortal. It’s not until you realize the liquid is beginning to burn that you stare up at him, biting your lip._

_“This won’t be very pleasant,” he frowns. He releases the cuffs on your wrists and picks you up, you body pressed unpleasantly to his. He’s stronger than you especially now. You feel like a bag of bones._

_He carries you up a flight of stairs and then a doorway. Outside there is nothing but, snow. A black mass of trees in the distance._

_Suddenly, pain, immeasurable and acidic, burns through your stomach. You double over – a mixture of a wail and a whimper – sounds from your chest._

_Duke sinks down next to you, wrapping a tender arm around your body. “Shh, it’s almost over,” he murmurs into your hair, rubbing slow circles over your skin with the palm of his hand._

_“Now, I need you to go,” he commands gently, ripping the chip from your neck. “It might difficult but, I highly suggest you head Northeast.” His face suddenly changes - nostrils flaring and his mouth turning down in disgust. “Your soldiers are looking for you.”_

_**Bucky. Steve.** _

_Your heart hammers against your ribs and you weakly push him away. Regardless of the fact that the pain is nearly destroying you from the inside, you make a run for it._

_You don’t care if it’s a trap. You don’t care if he has some plan because you’re certain he would never just let you go. But, you’re out of options and you’ll die before going back to that dark, wet room._

_You stumble into the woods. Air warps, time stills. Darkness has started to claim you, ripped you into a world free of sunlight or moonlight or stars and oh God, it’s so dark. So dark and you are so alone._

_**How will they find you?** _

_There is nothing but, snow. So much snow and it hurts your feet._

_You finger the raw wound where Tyr has ripped the binding chip from you neck. With the last of your strength, you raise your hands and pink cables of energy rip from your palms._

_It explodes above you. It chars stone and timbers, melts the snow and scorches the grass beneath. Black-blasted woods, split and toppled trunks. Heat bends the wind._

_You see a small building in the distance and you struggle towards it – desperate to be underneath a roof. You can’t collapse in the open air on a bed of ice._

_The room is empty – an old storage facility. You stumble to your hands and knees, the strength leaving your body in an instant. The pain erupts again. You cough and blood splatters the ground. You roll over onto your back. The frigid ground cools your feverish skin._

_He poisoned you. Of course, he’d be able to do it._

_“Get up,” you tell yourself aloud. “Get up.” Your voice cracks as it comes out in short whimpers – tiny and useless. You’ve never been this useless before. Never so weak._

_Pitifully, you start to cry, heaving and gasping for air. Blood cools on your lips, dries and stretches the skin. Your tears stop when you hear heavy footfalls coming closer – the ground vibrating with the tread._

_The door flies open and you see him. Relief courses through you – the pain minutely abated._

_“Bucky!” Steve calls over his shoulder, his voice panic-laden as he rushes towards you._

_His arms encircle you and he lifts you up over his thigh. You smile softly as his face comes into view. You can only see Steve._

_You hear Bucky’s startled yelp when he enters the room and sees you – broken with red streaming from your mouth and nose and eyes._

_You reach up and touch Steve’s cheek, smearing blood on his jaw and lower lip. You cough again and Steve is violently shuddering._

_“We need EVAC, now,” Steve screams into his coms. “Peter – where you? Where’s Tony? Tony – you need to carry her out of here. We found her. Oh god, It’s bad. It’s really fucking bad.”_

_You press a thumb to his lip, frowning. Something tugs in your stomach, your heart slows and your lungs constrict. Despite Steve’s warm chest, your body shivers. Bucky’s flesh hand wraps around yours, he wipes the blood from your cheek and pushes your hair out of your face. He offers you a thin smile - fear constricting his expression._

_“Tony – we are northeast of that facility – please get here!” Steve practically howls into his coms._

_“Baby?” Bucky murmurs tentatively._

_Steve watches your eyes flutter, he tightens his grip. “Hold on, sweetheart. C’mon, we found you. You’re safe now.”_

_You struggle to speak, your hand drops from his face. Hot tears are coursing down his cheeks and wetting your forehead._

_“So this is what it feels like,” you say weakly, almost amused._

_With Bucky clinging to your hand and Steve wrapped around your waist, your eyes close and head lolls backwards._

_Darkness – unyielding and claustrophobic – takes you._

**

You gasp – your hands flying forward and nearly knocking Steve in the face.

“Steve?” you moan, your pupils are unfocused as you blink rapidly.

He tightens his hold on your body, lifting you up higher.

“I’m here,” he assures you. “Right here.”

“Stevie,” you repeat and your voice breaks as tears start to form.

“What is it?” he asks tentatively. “What did you see?”

You fix your attention on a spot beyond his shoulder. The words and images fly by hot and furious. They surge inward – wanting to break out of your body. You feel overwhelmed and hollow at the same time.

“Everything,” you reveal - suddenly lost. “I remember everything.”


	8. Chapter 8

Bucky hears his name before he sees you.

Congregated in the common room, the team is all speaking in hushed tones about the mission – about  _him_. They’re scattered in groups, trying to give him space. He closes his eyes and tries to dull the rush of panic.

_“Who is he exactly?”_

_“What does he want?”_

_“He wants her.”_

_“Did he bring her back?”_

Bucky bites his lip and rubs his temples – he drops his head down and rests it on the cool marble of the bar top.

Everything is so fucked.

You’ve been down at the lake with Steve going on nearly an hour and he hopes the two of you haven’t killed each other yet. He hopes Steve has finally stopped acting like a real dick. After Bucky had seen Steve’s face, the way he was holding you, he knows something has changed. Something vital.

“Bucky!”

It comes out long and loose – his name echoing across the hallway. Everyone turns to stare at the doorway. It’s your voice…it’s really your voice – there’s weight to it. Intimacy. Longing.

You burst into the room – eyes and hair wild. Your cheeks streaked in tears and pupils red-rimmed. Steve comes in behind you – nearly knocking you down as he chases you inside. You’re staring at Bucky – staring through him and suddenly, effortlessly –  _he knows._

 _“_ Bucky,” you sob. “Bucky.”

You move towards him and he meets you halfway – lunging toward you with everything he has in him. You fall into his arms – collapse in a heap of sobs and he holds you against him, exhales into your hair – kisses your temple.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.’

“Buck – I remember,” you tell him - pained. “I remember.”

The rest of the group takes one look at Bucky then at Steve and immediately disperses. Tony grips Steve hard on the shoulder. “We’ll um – we’ll debrief later.”

Steve is merely standing there – peering down at both of them. Saucer-wide blue eyes and his face pale and alarmed.

Before Bucky can say another word, you’re gripping his face and pulling him down to your eager mouth. You taste perfect and he feels as if he’s falling. He kisses you back with hungry desperation his eyes sealed shut because he’s absolutely terrified that when he opens them you’ll still be dead – still lost.

His stubbly cheeks scrape your skin and finally he tears himself away from you in order to breathe. His forehead is pressed to yours as he pants, “Thank god,” he whimpers. “Thank God.”

******

The three of you sit in Steve’s bedroom. It’s just as you remembered: sharp lines, dark blue, ink gray, drawing pencils, minimal pillows and aged books. Black and white photographs. Beside his bed you remember that there had been a picture of you. Now – there is only his alarm clock and an old glass of water.

_“I would just talk to thin air as if I was talking to you and I honest to god thought I was. It took me a long time to exorcise you from my mind.”_

You don’t blame him for having to remove the pieces of you from his life. Not really.

You drop down onto his couch – the suede forgiving under your trembling hands. The memories are coming in bursts – images and sounds and textures and smells. Histories and lifetimes. Steve sits next to you with Bucky on your other side. The tension sizzles – gearing up to burn full blast.

Bucky and Steve are both trading uneasy looks like any second might mean you’ll turn around and forget them again. Side by side, they are still ever the same to you. Steve is the dawn - blush clouds and the promise of a new day. Bright skies and straightforward beauty. Bucky, in comparison, is the dusk – the thrill and potential – the duplicity of nightfall.

Steve leans forward and caresses your face, skims the lines of your jaw before cupping at your cheek.

“You’re crying,” he points out - concerned. Your hands touch your face – surprised.

“Yeah – just there’s a lot. A lot of things to remember and they’re coming in really hot,” you mutter. Bucky tentatively wraps an arm around your waist.

“If you need some space, darlin,” he offers. “We can leave.”

“No!” you exclaim immediately, gripping both his and Steve’s hand. “No – please don’t leave me.  N-Not after I just found you again.”

Both of them clutch your hands tightly in return, offering you tentative smiles as if pleased with your answer. You take another deep breath.

_There is more that needs to be said. More to be laid out on the table._

“I need to know what happened after I died,” you implore anxiously. “I need to put everything together.”

Steve’s eyes darken considerably – his brow furrowed. Bucky leans back into the couch, sighing loudly.

“C’mon, Steve,” you demand gently. “You have to tell me.”

Steve glances at Bucky worriedly before looking back at you.

“The thing is,” he says slowly. “I’m not sure you’re going to like me very much after I tell you.”

You turn to Bucky who immediately shifts his gaze to his thighs. “That’s impossible. I could never ever hate either of you.”

Bucky huffs before finally relenting. “Let’s just tell her, Steve. We don’t have secrets.”

Steve curses under his breath and then leans forward. He grips you by the chin and presses frantic lips to yours, wet and solid. He releases you and curls himself more deeply into his chair, hands clasped together.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Two years and 9 months ago, you died in my arms.”

******

It begins in Bergen – the end of their world.

Bucky sits in the corner of the room, his feet outstretched in front of him. His expression is lost – red eyes and a dirty face. He refuses to look at you and so he stares out the window – stares at the falling snow and watches the days change.

Sam is standing next to him – gloved hands against his nose.

“Steve – man,” he advises cautiously. “We gotta bury her.”

 _She’s starting to smell_.

Steve’s face is crusty with the blood you left there. Your eyes are slightly open – unfocused. Your body is stiff – so stiff in his hands when you used to be so pliant at his touch. He presses his face against your neck inhales the cloying sweet stench, pets your cheeks.

“C’mon,” he murmurs to you. “Wake up.”

It’s been four days and Steve Rogers refuses to leave you.

**

Natasha arrives by nightfall on the fourth day. She says that Tony is inconsolable and Steve has to laugh at that because what right does he have to mourn you when you aren’t even dead.

_Not yet. Please God not this._

Nat peers down at him – warm hand clutching his shoulder.

In a broken voice she tells him they’ve got to move you. She’s been crying and it comes out in hitched, shivering pants.

“No,” he snaps. “She’s coming back. It just takes a while.”

He pushes your mouth closed, tries to make your face whole again. Your jaw falls back open and your eyes are flat black coins – too wide and shiny to seem real.

He hears Sam groan and run out the door while Nat makes a strangled sound in her throat.

“Coming back from what, Steve?” She’s close to pleading.

“I don’t know,” he replies tightly. “But, she is.”

**

Thor comes. He arrives in a whiplash of thunder and lightning. The air burns with ozone and rain.

He’s grief-stricken and Steve hates him for it. Hates that Thor can move the heavens, bend the forces of nature to mourn you.

“Rogers,” he croaks and then a little more softly but, with a lot more steel. “Steve – “

Steve peers up at him and finally sees what he was so desperate not to believe.

Thor would know if you were coming back. The two of you are one and the same – gods built from pantheons of war and blood, seasons and romance, hearth and home.

When he meets Thor’s eyes – forlorn blue and empty- Steve feels his heart shatter inside his chest.

It’s then that a piece of himself dies – burns to ash. His eyes shut and he forces himself not to break down. Not then.

“We must bury her, Rogers,” Thor croaks. “Give her back to the Earth as she would have wanted.”

**

They entomb you in soil and snow. Bucky, Steve and Thor work together to sift the frozen floor and dig your grave.

He doesn’t want your body on display for some pomp and circumstance state funeral. He couldn’t stand it.

Bucky carries you from the cold building – handing you gently to Steve who lays you in the ground. It feels so intimate – confusingly so. It reminds him of the times he would lay you across his bed and kiss you senseless.

Natasha says some nonsensical words in between tears. Thor is silent. Bucky is pressing his face into the trunk of the tree that overlooks your body. Sam tries to include a funny anecdote before getting sick and throwing up a few feet away.

Steve watches the sun rise – bruise-red and saffron-yellow.

He grits his teeth to keep from screaming

**

Back at the compound, Steve goes to the roof and howls. He beats his fists into the cement floor – marvels at the way his knuckles bleed and flap. The moon sits ghastly lit above him - the moon you so desperately loved.

He fights Nat. Tears into Tony and life goes on as they’re called into a new mission assignment.

Hydra and your killers will be dealt with when they can get to it. Tony and Bruce are still trying to extract all the information they stole from the Bergen facility. It had been empty by the time Tony had gotten there and they keep making wrong turns and meeting dead ends with the data.

When Tony brings up the new mission, Steve goes a little insane – shatters the conference room table. Bucky holds him back but, it’s nearly useless as he screams at them.

What was the point of trying to save a world that had turned on you so violently? That had violated you – stolen you from him. The world had not done one kind thing but, tear them all apart time after time.

Tony gives him soft, sad eyes and tells him to not worry. He doesn’t have to go on this mission – he can rest.

Steve wants to tell him that that is not the god damn point but, he’s deflated – broken. He hunches over in his chair and stares at the broken pieces of table at his feet.

**

In an effort to keep him sane, Wanda tries to feed him vegetable soup. He vomits it up. Heaves and heaves until he presses his sweaty forehead against the tile of his bathroom floor.  A greasy pit of pain in place of his stomach.

Bucky stays in your room – curls himself around your pillows. His huge, lumpy figure invading your pristine, pretty color bed.

Each time a new mission comes and each time they don’t get closer to finding who killed you, the sicker Steve gets.

It takes a few days for him to realize that this deep-seated pain is not illness or sadness but, anger. Fury. Rage. Lethal and consuming.

It drags him down. Strangles him. Buries him as he buried you alone in the snow.

Except, he is being buried in fire.

**

At 3 am, Steve strides purposefully into your bedroom and tells Bucky they’re leaving

“To do what?” Bucky asks despite already knowing.

Steve tosses him his duffel bag – secures his shield to his back.

“To hunt.”

**

They take your car – matte black Range Rover that Tony had bought for you for your thousandth and something birthday. You had played at being bashful – all the while simpering under his affection because you were Tony’s favorite. You had known him since he was a kid.

In a motel room on the way to the city – Bucky asks Steve what the fuck they’re supposed to do. Steve only has the Bergen USB drives that they pilfered from Tony’s lab and even then they’re encrypted.

“I don’t know, Bucky,” he hisses.

He just had had to get out of there. His blood had been so hot. Furious. 

He had to get out.

Before he can think they might have moved too quickly, made a mistake – there’s a knock at the door.

It’s Thor – blonde hair pushed back from his face, baggy jeans and a sweatshirt.

He hands Steve a manila envelope. “The first man you are looking for is in Marsa Alam – goes by the name Egil.”

“How do you know?” Steve breathes – the anticipation of the first clue making his heart pound.

Thor smiles sadly – points to the sky. “Heimdall. He loved her.”

“And you don’t want to come?” Steve asks despite the fact that he doesn’t want Thor on this. The thought makes him itch, makes him nervous and he’s not sure why.

Thor looks at him knowingly. His smile is thin, dangerous – unlike him.

“I’m afraid this isn’t the purpose I’m meant for.”

Steve has no idea what that means but, he grips Thor’s arm in thanks all the same.

**

Before they leave, Steve stops at a CVS down the street. 

In the ugly, pea green bathroom – Steve dyes his scalp dark, staining the sink with his mahogany brown fingers. Bucky cuts his hair– the familiar hairdo slides him right back to the 40’s.

Steve paints his shield coal -black, Bucky uses Stark’s technology to make his arm appear flesh-like. He can’t wear gloves in sun-soaked Africa.

They dress in black tac pants, black sweaters and bulky vests. Heavy, heavy boots.

They pack jeans, t-shirts, and baseball caps for when they’ll need to blend.

Natasha calls him on his burner phone.

“Be careful,” she whispers. “I attached two tracking devices to the lining of your and Barnes’s bags. You might want to tear them out.”

He has to smile – despite it all. It’s such a Natasha thing to do.

“I set up a private flight at a hangar in New Jersey. Pilot’s name is Arvid. He will get you to where you need to go.”

“Call me if you need me,” she adds. “I’ll make up something for the others.”

Steve hums in acknowledgement, running a hand through his hair as he gazes at his new face in the stained mirror.

“Steve,” she starts and he presses the phone closer. “Give them hell.” She finishes.

He grunts in response.

He crushes the phone beneath his boot – tosses the scraps into the woods as they head for the garden state.

**

Africa is a heat-fever dream. Colorful baubles and strange food with stranger drink. Lobster shells and violets.

The two of them get overheated – sweating beneath Kevlar

Egil is a feather-thin, gawky man who reminds him of an insect. He runs an inn on the shores of the beach.

Steve hands him twenty-thousand dollars and Egil hands him a key to his room. He studies the two of them before grabbing his hat and his phone.

“I will gather what you are looking for,” he tells them. “In the meantime, I would suggest you go snorkeling – the coral is quite a sight to see.”

Steve looks out to the white sand beach, the turquoise water and thinks of you.  Thinks of you sun-drenched and wet between the two of them – your book long forgotten as they made love to you.

“No,” Steve states firmly. “We will wait in our room.”

In their hut, the two of them drop down onto thin twin beds. Bucky’s pulling at his shirt, rubbing at his hair.

“I feel like she’d hate it,” Bucky mutters.

“Hate what?”

“My hair,” he sighs. “She liked it long.”

“She liked it when it was short, too.”

**

Egil brings them photographs – brings them files and video footage.

“There are several people involved with the specific faction who brought down the Enchantress,” he explains. “Whispers have been traveling at lightning speed through different channels as soon as it was announced.”

The world knows. Of course, it does. There had been a fucking press release.

_“She was a war hero,” Tony tells Steve tiredly. “She was an Avenger, Rogers. The people deserve to know. We’ll keep it very simple – no details. Nothing. Very, very respectful.”_

_Steve snorts before passing the draft to Bucky who lights it up with his Bic._

“Hydra is celebrating,” Egil adds tentatively. “They are not exactly being subtle.”

Bucky bites his lip, tries to keep calm as rage burns hot in his belly.

“The first person you must go to is in Chiang Rai,” he continues, ignoring Bucky’s wolf face. “Woman who goes by the name Ingrid Schmidt – she was very high up at Hydra - ran all Eastern Operations.”

Steve nods, studying the photos of a white-blonde woman with smooth skin and dark brows. She looks like she sleeps at night and that makes his guts twist.

“So how long will you two be staying,” Egil finally asks – slightly nervous at Steve’s lack of words.

“We’re leaving tonight,” Bucky replies evenly behind Steve, his flesh-metal hand taps robotically on a file cabinet.

“We just have some unfinished business here,” he adds before stalking slowly up to him.

Egil’s eyes widen and Steve sighs. Standing up, he shuffles the papers he’s been given before peering down at him.

“We know you worked with Hydra on this,” Steve states flatly. “Rather a dumb move to not burn the files in your dresser drawer.”

“P-please – I wasn’t aware that they would kill her,” he begins to say but, Bucky is already there, his fingers wrapping around his throat.

“I have a wife,” he gasps. “She’s pregnant.”

“No – you don’t,” Steve tells him coldly. “And if you did – I wouldn’t care.”

He glances at Bucky who tightens his fingers until bones crunch. The sound dissolves under the echoing thrush of mosquitos outside.

With the moonlit beach at their backs, they head for the tiny air strip and the waiting plane. They leave the twenty-thousand dollars.

**

“Dark hair looks good on you, Captain Rogers,” Ingrid Schmidt smirks. “And Sergeant Barnes – it seems you’ve flourished without the hand of Hydra pulling the strings, hmm?”

Bucky swallows, tempers his anger because he will not feel sorry for himself. This is about you.

The woman sips Tiger beer, the bottle amber in her hands.

Her apartment is decorated in elephant tusks and golden Buddhas. The walls are painted lapis lazuli. Snake statues hold up her fireplace – gaping maws of white.

Bucky shivers and thinks of Louisiana swamps and you diving beneath wretched water. Your bell-like laugh.

“Talk,” Steve orders curtly, he leans back in his chair as Bucky hovers stone-faced behind him. His ever present guardian.

“There isn’t much to tell,” she replies acidly. “A higher up at Hydra knew that your team was heading to Korea. They hired a man to poison the Enchantress. That was the point of the mission – we did not know why.”

Steve’s eyes widen – he grits his teeth.

“So – it started then?” he echoes softly. “I knew – I had a feeling. She never got sick. It didn’t make sense.”

He’s muttering to himself now and Bucky has to stop him. He places his hand on Steve’s shoulder, squeezes. Steve immediately quiets and then taps his hand  – his symbol to go take a look around.

Quietly, Bucky leaves him to slip down the hall.

The woman eyes Steve carefully. Her lips are chapped and pale, thin as they wrap around the filter of a long cigarette. Orange light from the fireplace steals the shadows from her face, shockingly bright for an instant until it dies into half-light again.

“The man you are looking for is known as the Duke,” she reveals. “Very powerful. Very handsome. He has been around longer than I have.”

“Where is he?”

“That I do not know.” She lights another cigarette.

“Who is he?”

“I do not know that either – some say he’s an enhanced,” she offers. “He does not age. He is the strongest man I’ve ever seen – stronger than you, Captain. I would not go hunting for him if I were you,”

“But, he was responsible for her? For her capture?”

She sucks in a heady amount of smoke, her eyes dance furtively.

“Yes – he wanted her,” she replies. “He was hell-bent over it.”

Steve sucks in a breath – feels his heart pound fast against his chest.

“Steve –,” Bucky calls from down the hall. Steve glances at the woman who merely stares back amused before following his voice. Ever the assassin, Bucky has found a secret compartment in the woman’s ramshackle library. Dusty books all aligned except for one perfectly clean one. Sloppy work.

Inside is a small room with a vast map dotted in red against the wall. They find surveillance footage. Records and photos and telephone lists. Your face is on most reports and Steve catches himself caressing the grainy image.

There’s another one - a candid photo of your arm wrapped around Bucky’s shoulders with Steve leaning beside you - lips against your ear. It makes him heartbreakingly ill.

He returns to the woman – catches her soft, knowing smile.

“I figured he would find it,” she points out. “Perfect little dog that he is – we trained him so well.”

Steve’s lip curls back as he stares down at her.

“I assume you will be arresting me.”

At that, Steve’s eyes widen slightly and he stares at her confused.

_Oh – she thought differently. Poor thing._

It seems that she too suddenly understands because her expression morphs.

Fingers tremble around the cigarette as she shakily breathes, “This is very unlike you, Captain.”

Steve flexes his hands before he motions for her to finish her cigarette

Her lip quivers and she peers up at him.

“I have something else I can tell you,” she stammers. “The Duke – he didn’t _just_ lead the mission to kidnap her.” She pauses, swallows thickly. “He killed her, as well. He injected her with the poison.”

Her confession hits him hard like a bullet, slams white-hot into his stomach but, he doesn’t flinch. He buries it, lets it burn low until he figures out what he will do with that information.

To hear her death spoken about in such simple terms. Poison. Injection.

It hurts him.

Steve shakes his head and then slides behind her, wraps strong hands around her head.

“W-wait,” she pleads shrilly. “Please – I can give you more – “

“Thank you for your cooperation,” he sighs.

Steve had never killed a woman before.

He twists.

**

Steve dreams of running. The moon luminous above his head. Cold and unfeeling stars that cast shadows upon the ground at his feet. As he runs, his heart beats in his chest round and heavy. His blood sings in his veins. His muscles flex and tighten.

His shadow warps and bends beneath him. Creature-like.

For a few seconds, he hears Bucky next to him. Panting breath. Moonlight reflected off his arm. Blades of silver and Bucky whispering to him. The night is calling them both like a lover on a hilltop.

His bare feet crunch through dead leaves. He hears his name in the sweeping rustle of their dried husks. Someone calls to him.

Silk-throated, melodic voice in his ear. His feet fly over rocks as his lungs burn and his heart pounds like a drum.

 _Steve_.. _S-Steve…Stevieee_

A figure stands in the distance.  
  
He recognizes the back of you and he screams your name – your silhouette burns lovely against the violet horizon. As he gets closer, he makes out the details: a white rose pins the side of your hair back, taffeta dress and pearls on around your throat - noose-like.

As you turn around, your face melts like candle wax. Something shifts in his brain, a stone overturns and it all falls away before he can touch you.

He wakes up on the floor of the hotel bedroom, sheets wrapped around his legs and tears coursing down his face.

**

The first time he sees you is in Saigon.

They’re in the penthouse suite of the Park Hyatt and he’s drowning a Hydra lieutenant in his own bathtub.

The man is struggling, gasping, raking his nails pathetically across Steve’s Kevlar covered forearms.

In between gurgles of water he rasps, “One limb and two – “

Steve breaks his teeth – lets water flood his bloody maw.

After he’s done, he looks up and sees you perched on the sink – staring at him.

Startled, he falls backwards, slipping on the wet tile. His head cracks on the wall.

You blink – turn your head to the side to study him.

You’re in a white blouse and denim shorts. Pink little tennis shoes hang limply over the marble counter. Your nail polish is achingly blue.

He calls your name softly and your eyes widen. You smile.

As he reaches for you, Bucky walks into the bathroom. A map in his hands and his brow furrowed as he studies it intensely.

“Looks like they’re scattered all over numerous islands,” Bucky mutters before glancing at Steve.

“You okay, pal?”

Steve looks back at the sink but, you’ve vanished. In the tub, the man’s bloated face peers up like a white moon beneath the pink-tinged water. Steve grimaces as he stands.

“Yeah,” he says shakily. “Just hungry.”

**

In Singapore, they take a boat at night - watch buildings in the distance rise like monoliths. Pale lights flicker from windows – a reminder of lives being lived.

Waves slap the sides of the boat; the wind is a low whistle. The water is nearly black stretching out towards the horizon. Vegetation and jungle life create shades of green on the oil slick black of the ocean.

Again – you appear to Steve.

He sees your ghost on the bow – sitting hunched over – the moon turning your body into silver. You’re painting your toenails seashell pink, one orange flip flop dangling from your toe. Steve imagines lifting your bare leg, tongue licking up the bare soul of your foot as you shudder. The smell and taste of nail polish muddled by the salty mellow taste of your skin.

You look up at him suddenly – smile mischievously.

“Hello stranger,” he thinks he hears you say but, it could have been the wind – could have been the rough slap of water against the hull.

Steve blinks you away.

**

There’s a Hydra bunker on Sisters’ Islands. One of the scientists who was in the lab during your imprisonment was transferred here according to the reports Steve had stolen.

He does not know which island holds the bunker and so, he lights up both. Smokes them out – watches flames touch the sky with orange fingers.

Some deep, dark part of Steve is beginning to enjoy this. He can feel it growing, swelling slow like a cancer, black and rotten.

With their bare hands, he and Bucky kill every agent who manages to escape – sooty and gasping. They let the rest crackle and burn.

**

In Nusa Ceningan, Bucky and Steve make camp on the biscuit-white beach. The water is aquamarine and their stolen boat rocks and rolls in the distance. Shirtless and sun-burned, they sleep for three days in open air. The gentle gurgle of the sea a lullaby. In the morning, Bucky watches crabs scamper along the shore line. They’re purple-blue, glittering and wet. Bone-colored underbellies.

He kills them and boils them so, he and Steve can scarf down tender crab meat with sticky-brine fingers.

Bucky thinks of you then – thinks of that last vacation where the three of you had been blissfully happy – nearly sick with it. He remembers you holding onto him in their private pool, mouth against his ear as you whispered sweet things like how happy you were he was alive and with you, how much you had missed him, how much you needed him.

Suddenly, he’s crying. Quiet tears that escalate to deep, body shaking sobs and Steve has to tug him into his arms and let him weep.

He cries for hours or maybe, minutes. A storm is closing in and Bucky tips his face up to the sky, lets the rain moisten his face as he enjoys the flavor of the coming tempest.

When Steve looks at him, he can’t tell tears from the rain.

**

Steve sees you standing on a cliff edge that they sail by. You toe off your flip flops and he sees them fall – hears them splash into the water. You raise your arms in a “V”, wind ruffling your hair. You close your eyes and dive down, down, down, into the sea.

Steve is beside himself. He swears and tumbles over the side, swims to you. He feels your body, light and weightless – eyes shut and mouth open. Sunlight catches on your hair beneath the surface.

“God damn it, baby,” he growls yanking you up and into the boat. The day is hot – burning hot and his body feels like it’s on fire but, he saves you.

You’re staring up at him and, without another thought; he winds his hands into the tangled, wet knots of your hair and kisses you, searing and ardent. The wood digs hard into his knees as his callused hands trace your silky wet skin. He’s begging you.

“Don’t,” he pants against your ear. “Please never again.”

“Steve?”

A voice cracks from behind him and Steve turns around to see Bucky gazing at him with something akin to horror.

Steve looks down and finds nothing but, air between his hands.

**

You’ve been gone nearly a year. The two of them are wandering between two worlds: one dead and one powerless to be born or perhaps one that can never be born again.

**

On the shores of Scotland, they see a strange marine creature – beached and rotting on the rocks. Bloated and streaked in colors. Smelling like gas and black death.

Thor meets them in Edinburgh. The city is breaking open under the sluice of rain and bulging thunder. A gothic city malevolent in October night.

The floors of the Inn room creaks as Thor studies both of them.

“Have you lost yourself yet, Rogers?” Thor asks, matter of fact.

Steve looks up at him – dark eyes, dark brow. Bucky shares his expression - all that hell-bent fury.

“Are you here to help?”

Thor grins, smile reflective of the lightning pounding outside the window.

“I’m here to have a go,” he replies smoothly.

******

Their target is a Hydra general who lives in a stone castle along the moors. Halfway there, they see the smoke rising in the distance – ash gray, warm golden windows. 

A cozy evening to be sure.

The reapers are riding the rolling hills of green. The wind so cold it burns them down to their bones, shakes their foundations. But, still they move with furious persistence.

******

Andrei Sokolov does not live long.

They tie him to a chair – let him scream. He pisses himself, mucus hanging from his nose as he sobs.

His family is at their home in St. Moritz.

It wouldn’t have made a difference.

“We didn’t know,” he weeps. “We did not know it was her he was after.”

The lie is blatant – almost insulting

“Of course, you did,” Bucky says lightly, tracing his knife along his brow. “It was all over the files - all over  _your_ notes.”

Thor watches quietly in the corner – his face a mask of calm, keen observance.

Steve steps forward and slams his fist into the man’s cheek – it shatters under the force, red spraying from his mouth.

He drops down, peering up at this wretched man.

“Now – now,” he says softly. “I need you to be good. I need you to tell me everything that you know.”

Andrei’s eyes widen – nearly bugging out of his head. He’s gasping for breath. Steve tilts his head in warning and he goes quiet.

“Where’s the Duke?” Steve demands.

**

Andrei’s head pops off with the swing of Thor’s axe

The carpet soaks in syrupy red.

Steve stares at the open neck, the fountain-like spurt of blood.

“I take it you don’t want to come to with us?” Steve asks Thor.

“I’ve had my fill,” he replies calmly before walking outside and disappearing in a flash of white and desecrated lawn.

**

That night Steve dreams of you.

The bedroom is steeped in the your scent and you’re lying next to him – smooth flesh, ripe curves, silken hair and naked.

“Baby – what are you doing here?”

Your hands wrap around his cock, gliding up the length, slowly tugging.

“No.”

“Shh..Steve..it’s okay,” you kiss him, dipping your pink tongue into his mouth. It tastes like acid – like rust and when pull back your eyes are foggy and sightless.

“Sweetheart.” He grabs your forearms as you swing one leg over him, your cunt wet and burning as it rubs against his dick.

He closes his eyes and bites his lower lip and tries to ignore the tiny breaths you make as you ride him, tries to ignore the blood that spills down your mouth – purply-red and viscous.

**

Bucky dreams of you the next. He’s fucking you on the ceiling, your body spread out on a deep ocean of blue paint. Flames are licking up your skin, blackening your flesh – a halo of fire engulfing your body.

He sucks in a smoking breath; the heat singes his lashes and eyebrows.

“Make me feel good, Bucky,” you whine into his ear as fire burns around them. “It hurts…it hurts so much.”

He comes violently inside you. Fire spreads like liquid, blooms of orange catching on the tiny hairs of his arms.

He wakes up drenched in sweat – Steve stares at him from the stool at the breakfast bar. Moon dappling his face in half light from the bay window. Old coffee in his hand. He looks at Bucky with a morose expression.

Steve had kept himself awake tonight because he knows all about you and dreams.

***

In Brussels, they find a dead body. Their intended target.

The woman in question is flung in the far corner of her apartment – you’d almost miss her if you weren’t looking. Her body is like a broken doll, sleek golden hair bled crimson, limbs twisted at impossible angles, spine snapped and bent in half in the wrong direction.

 _He_ knows and he’s burning their breadcrumbs before they can reach them.

Rumors have long now flooded through Hydra. Rumors about the two war-gods who have come to seek vengeance for what they had done to their love. No one expected Captain Rogers of all people to fall so far off the reservation.

Maybe, the Asset. But, no not Steven Grant Rogers – America’s Golden Boy.

Steve laughs to himself as he studies the corpse.

“They’re getting nervous,” Steve tells Bucky – detached.

They didn’t know him at all.

**

In France, they see you everywhere.

They’re overrun by memories of you and 1943 and 1944 and 1945. You and Europe and tents and sex. You as a lovely vision in a blue, blue dress with red flowers and the promise of a family. Gorgeous nymph made from myths and dressed in ancient leather.

France makes Bucky thinks of the first time he had laid eyes on you, the fog of forest expanding around your outstretched hands, the steely grimace of your lips as you cracked a Nazi’s neck.

Right then - he had known he had loved you. He had felt vindicated, as if finally Bucky Barnes had met destiny on agreeable terms.

**

In Paris, their target is a Hydra scientist who lives on the Rue de Rivoli.

He manages to stab Bucky in the chest and, in return, Bucky wrenches open his lower belly with his knife.

He yanks the blade from his chest before pressing a flat palm to his torn skin. He escapes quickly – making his way down the street to meet Steve at their rendezvous point. He turns down a dark alley and finds himself face to face with you.

It’s like a needle prick sting. His mouth drops open and you smirk wickedly.

_Oh – this isn’t you._

After years under Hydra’s brain manipulations – Bucky is well versed with hallucinations.

This is just your form stretched across the framework of something vile. It still hurts though – vibrates through him – shaking loose memories long buried and half forgotten.

You blink before your smooth face turns white – your eyes become empty holes that fog. Your mouth moves with little puffs of clouds.

 _Buckyy_.. _Bucky_

Your voice rises hollow and haunting – lulling him for a moment into submission.

A car honks loudly behind him and the moment breaks.

You fade into the blackness of the alley.

**

In London, Steve sees a girl who reminds him of you: same hair, same dip in your hips and carry of your shoulders. Of course, no mortal can truly compare. Not really. Not ever.

He smiles at her – with too much teeth but, she eats it up. He buys her a drink – something fruity and saccharine. She simpers and up close she looks nothing like you.

An hour later, he has her in the bathroom of her hotel lobby. He won’t kiss her, merely brushes his face against her cheek presses her forward over the sink. He’s careful not to leave marks on her hips, at least not dark ones. She hands him a rubber and he leaves his baseball cap on.

She makes too much noise when he gets inside her.

Breathy. Frothy. High-pitches moans that verge on pornographic.

The only thing he says is your name when he comes.

**

Afterward, Steve goes back to his room, presses a hand to his chest and feels the stark cold emptiness there.

He glances at himself in the mirror, traces fingers along the hard lines of skin. He tosses his hat – feels a wave of panic slice through his heart.

_Why did he do that?_

Steve is the kind of person who know what it’s like to bury the people he loves. He’s the kind of person who relives it every night and, for him, it is hell. Unmitigated hell. He will do this for the rest of his life.

He thinks of the people he has killed – the atrocities he has committed. He thinks about a world in which he would have belonged, in which he would have been transparent. He touches a hand to his mouth and wonders maybe he had never really had a choice. He would never have been able to escape this – it might as well have been in his blood, his bones. All of it in a very literal sense.

When he looks away from the mirror, he sees you again. Beautiful as ever. Cross-legged on his bed with a slight frown on your lips. He thinks of the girl downstairs and shudders at his own foolishness.

“You’re not here,” he rasps. “Not really.”

“Does it matter?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s okay to love a ghost, Steve,” you say soothingly. “She loved you all those years you were gone – thought dead.”

No – he couldn’t because he had nothing left. He had lost his heart to you a long time ago. Yes – lost it was – as if he had removed it and laid it down somewhere and then forgotten exactly where he had placed it. Even now, these few years afterwards, his chest feels as if there is an agonizing hollow within it – cavern dark and filled with echoes.

Sometimes – in his lighter moments, he thinks he can almost hear the vibration of a phantom heart within his chest. But, then remembers that that is impossible for he had given you his heart the moment he had met you and you had kept it in your possession ever since.

He had buried it with you and now he was empty.

You gaze at him, pretty eyes and pretty lips.

“Would you like me to lie to you now?”

“Yes,” he admits weakly as if he can’t believe it. “Please.”

He touches your ghost-face, feels the soft down of your cheeks. So real.

You lean back on the bed and open your arms to him. He crawls inside their circle and lets you hold him as he feels the weight of them around him and the soft brush of your lips across his forehead. He cries against you, watches his tears dampen the cotton of your shirt.

“I’m here,” you murmur, rocking him. “I’m always here.”

In the morning, he wakes up to an empty bed. The raw light of the sun turning the stained walls of the hotel room stark white. Bucky throws the door open. He has a new lead and train tickets purchased.

“Who were you talking to last night?” Bucky queries. “Could hear you through the wall.”

Steve blushes. The smell of you is gone from his sheets.

**

Pain for Bucky is ever present now. It snakes slow and languid under his skin. It stretches down his legs before coming to rest its head on his shoulder like a sated woman.

He knows the exact moments it will reach out with perfect precision to bite him.

And so he finds things to help escape. Momentary as they are.

Bucky drinks alone at a pub in Dublin. Bombay sapphire rolls over his tongue thick and oily like eucalyptus and menthol. A red-head slides in next to him, freckled and kind of pretty. Looks nothing like you. Nothing at all. She orders him a shot and talks in his ear, flips the glass over on the pockmarked surface.

The leather of Bucky’s jacket is tight against his back, he flexes his fake flesh hand – watches it shimmer.

“You here alone,” she drawls. Her eyeshadow is too much, her lipstick too much and the scent of her perfume hurts his nose but, he’s willing.

He nods.

“You got a room?”

Steve is immersed in the library at Trinity College – searching for knowledge on their far off man in question. Bucky gathers that he probably has two hours or so to kill.

He shakes his head – not his room.

“I can work with that.”

He fucks her in the back alley. No kissing. He comes in latex.

When she asks why his hand feels so, cold and sharp – he ignores her.

Leaves her there to wonder.

**

Bucky watches a carousel in Istanbul. Spinning colors, garish, impossible creatures winding in a circle. Teeth gnash and snap at the air as they whirl with eyes rolling back. Distorted music jingles and he flinches at the coos of children’s laughter.

Next to him, a pregnant woman holds her belly: pink cheeked, glowing skin and sweet eyes. Bucky’s heart curls into his chest, he runs a hand through his hair. It’s long again.

Steve is blonde and they don’t care. Not really.

In the distance, an explosion causes a tower to fall. Screams. Cries. Bullets.

Steve struts outside, ash on his cheek and the dark smear of blood on his chin.

He didn’t spare the guards that time.

**

It’s the night before they plan to kill Duke Ellison. They’ve found out enough about him to know his name – to know you had even worked with him under Peggy in the sixties.

Neither are sure how to feel about that.

They rent a white adobe room off the coast of Patras. The scenery is all deep pink bougainvillea and terracotta roofs.

They are punch drunk off sky and ocean and the promise of revenge. They think they might die. It’s a possibility. 

They’ll go down swinging.

In the night, in the dark – they come together. Broken and desperate to feel what they have lost. Bucky is whining beneath him, tender and open and raw and Steve holds him roughly against him.

Sleek burly muscle and hot hands, fingers twining and fisting together. It’s only slightly awkward, only during certain moments - as they move like two pieces in a three-piece puzzle. On the bed, Steve sees you next to him, your eyes soft and hazy – a Jester’s grin.

They roll, twist and take – yield and give – sweat clinging to them both.

Bucky arches beneath him, spine nearly cracking with Steve’s hungry mouth on his throat. Reassurance spoken through the press of fingertips, the harsh rocking of their hips. He needs this as badly as Steve does as he traces his own name with his lips on Steve’s shoulder

Bucky slips his fingers into Steve’s mouth, tracing the ridge of his bottom lip as he turns and then cranes sidelong into his kiss. There is no air and the world narrows to a pinprick.

His body opens onto Steve’s fingers and then his cock and the world explodes for them both.

Trembling fingers comb through his hair as Steve rests his head on Bucky’s damp stomach. Bucky’s eyes shine down on him like he may be crying and Steve strokes the knob of bone on his hips.

For a moment – neither of them can speak afraid of breaking something between them.

The window is open – pale ethereal moonlight scatters across them, patches of shadow chasing across the canvas of their chests and shoulders. Tangled arms and salt of mingled spit between their lips.

“I love you, jerk,” Bucky declares quietly in the sea of their dark room.

“Love you, too,” Steve whispers as he feels your ghost fingers wipe at the sweat on his scalp.

This is their reprieve – a moment’s respite before the real battle begins tomorrow.

**

Duke lives in a house overlooking the sea. Below the cliffs, the giant outstretched hand of a broken statue pokes up from the water – patchy wet moss and algae clinging to its stone surface. It grows in between the lines of the upturned palm, the giant fingernails.

The place of old gods. Of buried religions. Ancient and pious.

But, they didn’t know. Couldn’t know then..what he was.

He’s not at home when they get there.

Inside – it is as if the house was built in a forge. Furniture, floors and walls are warped and buckled and curved at odd angles as if heat had radiated from its foundation. The floor slants slightly downward like an ominous invitation. Peeling wallpaper and broken statues. Bronze.

They get the house ready and when Duke comes home – it’s almost comical. Steve greets him from the couch.

“Nice place you have here,” he says conversationally, before touching the coffee table. “Lovely woodwork.”

The Duke or Duke or whatever the fucker’s name is opens his mouth to speak and Bucky brings his fist down hard on his head from behind him.

 _Cracks_ and  _Splinters_

He groans – blood spilling down his forehead as he falls forward – his face crunching on the weird wood.

**

“So tell us why?” Steve hisses. “Why did you have to kill her?”

Duke blinks dumbly before he spits out a tooth. His eyes gleam.

“Stupid question, Cap,” he drawls playfully. “Everyone wanted to kill her just like everyone wants to kill you – wasn’t exactly rocket science.”

Silvered threads of daylight drift through the window, sweep against the hard cuts across his face. His hands are cuffed together –vibranium.

Bucky kicks him hard in the stomach – watches him curl up into a groan. It looks like he likes it.

“You wouldn’t understand  _why_  even if I told you,” he gasps. “The two of you have no idea what history lived between us.”

“You’re insane,” Bucky spits.

“Not at all, Barnes,” Duke laughs. “Saner than you.”

There’s a beat of silence. Heaving breaths between all three.

“I fucked her you know,” he taunts out of nowhere. “Back in the sixties – she and I worked together. She was a glum little thing – pining away for her long dead, dumb soldiers. She begged me to make her feel something – feel anything.”

Bucky sharply inhales, his nostrils flare before he lunges for him.

“Fuck you,” Bucky roars, fist bashing into his cheek. “Fuck you!”

Steve doesn’t stop him instead he finds himself turning around and heading outside. He needs to breathe. Needs air. Grecian wind seeps through the open windows. The house gaps and sags at the places where it’s joined.

In the back is a stable and a stallion. Wild and glossy black – graceful arch of neck and heavy hooves. Without a thought, Steve treads down to the stable and feeds it from the grain bowl next to its stall. He’s huge as he playfully whickers at Steve’s hand. Dancing horse legs. Its eyes alarm him though. Its eye are too  _human_. Ancient and all knowing. 

He unlatches the horse’s stall – gives him the chance to escape if he wants to before heading back to the house.

Steve finds Bucky panting furiously – Duke is a mess of swollen eyes and bloody flesh.  

“Let’s just get this done,” Steve tells him quietly. “There’s no point in trying to get more answers out of him - he admitted to doing it.”

Duke is staring up at Steve - his face ripples like shuddering stone, and he pulls a smile like a weapon, hard edged and cold.

“She called out for you,” he reveals softly. “Never in my life had I seen her so weak for someone – two mortals nonetheless.”

Steve feels the table bend under his fingers.

“She wept and begged. Pleaded,” he sighs. “It was kind of pathetic. You – the both of you - ruined her.”

Steve doesn’t react. With blood pounding hot in his ears, he reaches his hand out to Bucky who places your sword in his hands. He’s doing this for you.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Steve smiles.

Duke eye’s glitter, red pounding around the iris, as he watches Steve raise your sword and bring it down into his belly. He barely flinches but, his eyes widen.

“How romantic of you,” he coughs wetly. “Using her sword.”

Blood seeps between his teeth giving him a monstrous smile.

“Light it up, Buck,” he instructs before yanking your sword out of Duke’s belly with a gurgling hiss.

Bucky offers a simple grunt to make him aware he’s ignited the explosives. He placed them in a dainty little pattern throughout the house.

“Time to go,” Steve grins.

**

They watch it explode from a distance. Red and orange flames digging into the bright blue sky. They eat the house up in a furious storm heat.

Bucky drops down on the grass – bone weary and tired as he props his chin in his hands to admire his handiwork. Atomic art.

They both feel vindicated – free even.

Tears hit Steve suddenly – they stream down his cheeks and break apart on his lips in a salty kiss. He laughs and it catches him by surprise. The feeling almost alien.

He picks up his latest burner phone and dials a number.

Natasha pick up on the second ring.

“Steve?” She sounds tentatively hopeful.

His voice is broken – wrecked as if he hasn’t truly used it in years. He clears his throat before speaking.

“Bring us home,” Steve finally says hoarsely as another explosions shakes the ground. “We’re done.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this is a total bastardization of both Tyr and the Marvel Comic - Amora. I've given her a totally different role - making her more of a god/demi-god. I also know Tyr in Norse Mythology is not evil and is, in fact, very heroic!

“This is unbelievably stupid,” Steve mutters as he watches the staff bring in hundreds of flowers. Garlands and bouquets.   The perfume is sticky sweet – cloying even. A tall magenta orchid smacks him in the nose as it is set next to him on a high table made of black marble.

“I agree with Rogers on this,” Thor declares from behind him. His arms are tucked across his chest – his expression worried.

“I already got her permission, guys,” Tony says as he eyes the dimensions of the ice bar. “She knows Pepper has had this gala on the books for a solid year. She said she was fine with it.”

Steve glances over at you. You’re laughing at something Bucky has whispered to you. Both of you are sprawled out on the common room couch with his head in your lap. Your face is clear – glowing even. Very much alive.

It’s not lost on Steve that the staff keep shooting you stunned looks – some even fearful. The great Enchantress back from the dead. Beautiful and unmarked – at least, externally.

“And what about the public?” Steve presses. “So – this is her coming out party? The guy who killed her is on the loose and we’re having a party.”

“The  _god_ who killed her,’ Thor interjects. Steve bites his lip – feels another wave of paranoia wash like acid into his belly. He would never get used to  _that_. After their talk, you had explained to him that Duke was, in fact, Tyr God of War. They couldn’t catch a break.

“I’m having everyone sign an NDA,” Tony explains. “The world is slowly discovering that she is alive. She’s a god, Rogers, it’s not really out of the realm of possibility that she came back. Our people tend to come back all the time.”

Steve rolls his eyes.  _Fair point._

“As for our godly nemesis – we will figure that out,” he shrugs. “It’s been pretty fucking dour here and we can have one nightto blow off some steam.”

Thor shakes his head. “I don’t like this. Tyr is not someone you underestimate…he’s not someone you simply shrug off until a plan hopefully falls into our laps.”

Tony huffs. “I thought you of all people would have my back on this? Lover of revels and all.”

“Not when it comes to her safety,” Thor replies in a low voice. “I will not lose her again.”

With that, Thor leaves the room – most likely to burn off some steam by blowing something up – his boots reverberate off the floor with his hard tread.

Tony’s eyebrows rise up before he turns to Steve. “Have you guys – you know – discussed the whole ‘Thor might be in love with your girlfriend.”

“He’s not in love with her,” Steve defends. “They’ve been friends for a millennium – basically family.”

“Um okay,” Tony appears unconvinced and Steve attempts to push down the twang of bitter unease in his chest. “But, if you guys need to have some fight to the death for her hand then please do it on the lawn...our damages bill is through the roof.”

Steve doesn’t even reply - merely stares at him unamused.

“On another note,” Tony grins. “How’d your talk go? You all looked delightfully cozy on the floor of the kitchen the other night.”

Steve actually smiles at that, his love for you bright and full beneath his skin.

* * *

_“That’s it?” you ask as you glance between the two of them._

_“Well – uh yeah,” Steve says. Reliving all that he had done had been harder than he expected. Something bitter sits on his tongue and he does not know how to quench it._

_“I’m sorry,” you say slowly. “But, how could I be mad when the two loves of my life went on a vengeance quest for me? That’s honestly the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”_

_Bucky’s eyes widen and he grins at Steve. “Told yah, Stevie. Our doll is far too macabre to be judgmental.”_

_You sigh as you scoot onto the coffee table so, you can sit in front of Steve. You caress his face before cupping it between your palms. “You didn’t do anything that I wouldn’t have,” you murmur. “The only thing you did was rid the world of evil..maybe without due process..but, when have we ever played by the rules when it comes to justice.”_

_He smiles at you, the weight of those years beginning to slip from his shoulders. He sees your eyes start to glimmer and he tugs you to him. “I’m just sorry you had to go through all of that,” you tell him quietly._

_You turn to Bucky, reaching for him and he slides in behind you. Heavy thighs around your own as he presses himself against your back._

_“I never want you to feel that lost again” you plead. “Never.”_

_“Well – we’ll make sure that you dying was a one-time thing,” Bucky promises against your hair. “Seriously – we’ll follow you into the afterlife and rip you back out.”_

_You smirk, pulling Steve’s face closer to yours. “I’m only mad about one thing,” you reveal._

_“The chicks?” Bucky queries. “Babe – they meant noth-“_

_Your head spins around and you shoot him a deadly look. “I’m choosing to pretend that part of the story did not take place and I have forgiven you but, I do not want to hear it. Ever.”_

_Bucky has the wits to look thoroughly cowed and he rubs his cheek against yours in retribution._

_“What I’m mad about,” you begin again. “Is that you two made love without me there to watch.”_

_Steve nearly chokes on his own spit before he looks up at Bucky. “It was kind of more of a fucking, to be honest.”_

_“Totally emotionally broken fucking,” Bucky adds. “Felt weird without you.”_

_“Oh thanks, pal,” Steve teases._

_“I mean it felt great!” he quickly cuts in. “Just not…complete.”_

_“Well – I’m here now,” you offer._

_Before Steve can respond, you grab him by the chin and pull his face to yours. You kiss him with abandon – sloppy lips moving against each other without hesitation. It’s a searing hot kiss that could bring tears to his eyes with the power of it. He loves you and he had missed you with such dangerous intensity. You turn to Bucky and tug him to you – his tongue plunges into the bowl of your mouth. Steve had forgotten how much he enjoyed this, watching Bucky grip your profile – pink flash of tongues battling between swollen lips._

_You separate yourself with a heaving gasp; press a hand to your chest._

_“You both make me forget how to breathe,” you laugh. Steve grins – lunging forward to wrap his arms around your waist and yank you into his lap._

_He digs his hands into your hair, revels in the feel of the silky strands that wrap around his fingers. He twists your face up to his and kisses you again. He can hear your heart thundering wildly – the solid proof of your resurrection. The deep gasp of your lungs as your mouth opens beneath his._

_“Baby,” you pant. “Steve, sweetheart, stop!”_

_He quickly unlatches from you, stares down at you concerned._

_“What is it?”_

_You glance between him and Bucky – your face hot._

_“I – um – can we just take our time with this?” you ask. “I’m dying to sleep with you both. I-I need it. More than anything. But, I just want to go slow.”_

_Steve nods, tucking you close to him. He wants you…more than he has the words to describe but, he understands. Their entire life – their love story – has just collapsed into your brain like a falling building. You are still picking through the wreckage._

_He can’t really imagine it._

_Bucky scoots forward on the coffee table, runs his metal fingers along your cheek._

_“Take all the time you need, sugar,” he says. “We’re not going anywhere.”_

* * *

“Rogers?” Tony snaps his fingers across his eyes. “Earth to Rogers!”

“Huh?” Steve blinks.

“That good, huh?” Tony peers over at you, watches you call over to Natasha and Wanda. Hands animated. Smile blossoming white and loud.

Tony thinks of the years between them – the years that built their friendship. How could he have known that when he had met you in his father’s office in 1987 that they’d be here now? That this woman, beautiful and unchanging, would follow him wherever he had asked (except for the Accords but, they didn’t talk about that).

You had helped in the search for him when he had been taken hostage. Had told him that his father loved him regardless of what he believed. Had pretty much cursed his existence after he had nearly died going into the wormhole before wrapping your arms around him and calling him a dumb, fucking idiot.

He glances at Steve. He had hated Steve for a long time...a very long time because not only had this larger than life soldier taken his father’s respect but, he was the love of your life. You were unmoved about him. No one else could compare. He hadn’t known much about Barnes. Steve was the one whose face not only hung in your father’s office but, your bedroom. He saw Steve everywhere.

To be clear, Tony had not been in love with you but, he had  _loved_  you. He had hated the fact that Steve Rogers, even in death, had enough power to make you so terribly sad all the time. There had been something thoroughly broken behind your eyes all the years he had been gone. Tony had longed so badly to fix it as he had fixed everything in his life through money and science and engineering. Metal and tape.

He didn’t realize that only Steve’s return could have healed you and Tony saw that now. He saw how perfectly meant for each other you were. Even stupid Barnes. The three of them were like a well-oiled machine – cosmic destiny spread between tremulous figures.

They were  _in love_ and it felt greater than him. Greater than anyone.

Beneath the afternoon light flooding through the high windows, he watches Steve’s face shine with unburdened happiness as he looks at you. You stare back with matching intensity.

“Jesus,” he mutters to himself. “Feels good to have her back.”

* * *

The gala is a master class in Tony Stark Parties. Garlands of eggshell plumerias dashed in gold hang from the ceiling. Candles float on the surface of tinkling pools. Blood red azaleas, pale green succulents and blush pink peonies explode from vases atop white-clothed tables. Bars made of ice and decked in every premium alcohol imaginable – bottles glittering like jewels. A sixteen-piece band is playing at the center of the room – drenched in cool, blue light.  Music weaves through the guests – coils into Bucky’s ears and eases his distress.

He had thought this was a bad idea. There were things that had to be done – you needed protection now more than ever and they needed to plan their assault on that  _motherfucking cocksucking immortal piece of shit_.

Instead, he finds himself dressed in god damn black tie – the collar tight across his throat. His hair is yanked back in a low bun and he longs to run a hand through the strands – release some tension.

Steve is ordering them drinks as they wait for you. You had pretty much shooed them both out of your room because you needed  _girl time_ with Nat and Wanda.

He scoffs. Bucky and Steve needed “ _you time”_  thank you very much.

Steve hands him a glass of bourbon – the spicy rich smell comforts him. They’ve managed to avoid a number of dignitaries and generals and agents for the last twenty minutes. Bucky is fairly certain that he has his murder face on –  _winter chill_ \- as you so aptly named it. Steve’s expression looks uncharacteristically less than welcoming – he always manages to look stern and important at these things but, also perfectly willing to be cordial.

Like Bucky, he’s still sour that this party is even happening.

“She’s taking a while,” Steve assesses, sipping at his beer.

Bucky nods. “She definitely doesn’t need to. The girl could wear a potato sack and be about a thousand times hotter than any dame here.”

Steve chuckles. “She likes getting ready – said it makes her feel normal.”

“Yeah I know,” Bucky shrugs. “I just wish she’d get down here. All these people are making me restless.”

“It’s not that ba-“

Steve immediately stops – his face turning up to glance at the entrance of the room. Bucky follows his gaze and feels his stomach flip.

You’re walking in behind Natasha – dressed in pale blue silk. A vermillion-red flower is tucked into your hair. Bucky knows that combination of color and pattern. Red flowers and blue. It’s an echo of that dress you wore in France during the forties – the dress that made him think of their future. The possibility of a life beyond the war.

The entire room falls silent despite the music – an unyielding hush beneath rocking jazz. You seem unbothered – your eyes only focused on Bucky and Steve. Genuine, unbridled love bursting from your expression as you glide towards them.

The dress leaves little to the imagination: a deep v-neck, floating skirt, the fabric wrapping around you like a second skin. Bucky’s cheeks ache from how wide he is smiling, his usual stern grimace falling away almost immediately.

You touch his cheek, running smooth skin over his light beard before pressing a firm kiss to his mouth. You do the same to Steve who is absolutely speechless as he studies your outfit.

“Do you know what you do to me, woman?” Bucky growls as he yanks you fiercely to him again to slide his lips against your throat. He will never get enough of this. This simple, sweet touching. Never enough.

“You both look struck dumb,” you laugh. “I think I did well in the outfit department.”

“Better than well,” Steve says, nuzzling your cheek. It’s out of character for him – this uncontrolled affection on public display. He’s desperate for you. “You’re perfect.”

“At least, I’m not green,” you shrug as you eye the spectators that are blatantly watching you. “I feel like half the people here think I’m going to mainline their brains.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Who cares? Focus on us, baby.”

Steve grips your hips, his fingers squeezing in all the ways he knows you love it. “Buck is right. They don’t matter.”

Your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. “Is that really you, Rogers? You’d always make us come to these things because we had to make a good impression.”

Steve nibbles your earlobe as he digests your words. “I’ve come to realize that you and Buck are the only two things that really, truly, mean something to me –“

“Don’t let Sam hear you say that,” Bucky cuts in.

“Or Natasha,” you add.

“Yes, of course, the team means everything to me, also,” Steve replies quickly. “I love them but, us – the three of us – that’s something different. Something beyond time and, hell, even death. The rest is – well – the rest is just background.”

“Fucking sap,” Bucky murmurs despite the emotion thick in his throat.

You ruffle Steve’s slicked back hair - press yourself up against his chest, breasts crushed beneath the lapels of his jacket. Steve’s eyes darken, pink tongue slipping across the swell of his full lower lip.

“Wanna dance then, my love?” you ask.

* * *

The party has reached a new height in terms of debauchery. As soon as the strangers had left (well had been asked to leave none too subtly by Tony), Thor had produced enough Asgardian liquor to lay Bucky, Steve and himself flat.

You had danced with nearly everyone three times and your head felt heavy with both alcohol and happiness. Even Fury had looked incredibly misty-eyed when he’d seen you. You were his longest serving agent and he had, uncharacteristically, wrapped you up in a very warm embrace the second he’d walked into the room.

Natasha, smirking wildly, had taken a photo on her phone.

Leaning against the bar, you ask Nat to make you another martini. Eighties love ballads are blasting from the DJ booth. Tony is standing on the raised stage where the band was once playing. With his black bow-tie wrapped around his head, he rocks out to REO Speedwagon’s “Keep on Loving You”. Rhodey is cheering him on from the sidelines. Clint and Sam are in a deep conversation about strapping explosive arrows to Sam’s wings.  Vision is twirling Wanda around while Scott is slumped over, dead drunk, on one of the many white leather couches. Bruce sits awkwardly beside Fury – looking extremely out of place. You feel a genuine rush of affection for the man – knowing he’s staying for you.

Bucky and Steve have alternated between literally clinging to your back and playing pool. It’s adorable – their joy at being able to hold you. Many of your memories are still foggy – like paint splattered over a photograph. But, your memories with them – those are clear as day. Bucky sinks another ball and glances up – meeting your gaze. He gives you a lopsided grin, arches an eyebrow seductively and that is enough to render you jelly-limbed. Your heart beats restlessly against your ribs and you take a heavy sip of the martini Nat hands you.

“So,” Nat eyes you from over the bar. “Have you three fucked each other’s brains out yet?”

“Nat!” you screech, all fake offense. “How crude!”

“Oh please, sestra,” she purrs. “You were the one who always gave one too many details when it came to your sex life.”

You laugh. “Good point – and to answer your question – we have not.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know – I just – my brain is still fuzzy and it fees like I’m slowly entering a really hot tub if that makes sense? I can’t fully immerse myself just yet.”

“What’s this talk of hot tubs?” Thor booms from behind you.

You turn around to gaze up at him – his handsome face softened under the numerous candlelight.

_You did love him – you still do. He had known you for so long._

Thor seems to blush under your watchful gaze, his eyes filling with shadow.

He lowers his voice before speaking. “Can I speak with you outside? I have something for you.”

“Of course,” you reply without another thought.

* * *

The great balcony off the main ball room is a whole spectacle of glass. Glass floors and glass railings. Heavy trees hang over the side and it’s big enough that suddenly the two of you feel very alone beneath the heavy handed moon. The garden under the balcony is overflowing with life: a rich collusion of blooming flowers and waxy vegetation. Vines ensnare pathways for those unsure of their footing.

Despite Tony’ s insistence for clean, cut lines for the compound grounds, you and Wanda had begged for a garden. He had found it considerably difficult to say no to two pairs of big, soft eyes.

You lean against the glass barrier that acts as a railing; it feels solid beneath your warm skin. Thor eyes you beneath his lashes as he moves towards you.  He looks stupidly good in black tie.

“I wanted to give this to you,” he reveals, pulling the necklace he had shown you weeks before out of his pocket. The same necklace that had helped unlock your powers a little more – unlatch your mind. The amber glitters between his fingers. “I kept forgetting.”

Wordlessly you turn around and lift your hair so, he can put it on you.

As he slips behind you, you hear his sharp intake of breath. Warm knuckles gently graze your skin as he hooks the delicate chain. He audibly gulps before stammering, “Alright – it’s on there.”

You turn around, eyebrow sharp and high. “You sure? Wouldn’t want to lose it,” you reply cheekily.

Your tone, however, dies as soon as you meet his expression. He looks  _pained_ and alarmingly lost as his eyes chase your own - as if he could desperately communicate to you the chaos of his head.

And the thing is – you really don’t want to know. You don’t want to hear what he has to say because you love Steve and Bucky and this could get so, horrifically, complicated.

You’re about to head back inside before he crowds you against the railing. Cradling your face in his hands, the pad of his thumb runs along your lower lip.

“Thor…” you warn softly.

His eyes soften as they scan your face – searching for something. “To think the course of fortune weaved so delicately by the fates would come to this? Would bring you back?”

You don’t think he’s speaking to you now. At least, it seems more like he’s speaking to himself. Thinking out loud.

“What am I to you?” he suddenly asks. His fingers absently scratch the back of your skull. His breath fans across your face and it feels familiar. The taste of him – evergreen, rain and storm cloud.

The creeping bite of magic.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “Everything is so...muddled.”

“I think you remember more than you want to believe.”

Your breath hitches at that. Still, you haven’t pulled away; haven’t pushed him off. Trembling despite the warm air, you unconsciously settle further into his body where he has drawn you near, wanting suddenly to feel more of him. It is heady – this feeling – unexpected. Your head swims with it, knees nearly buckling at this visceral desire that your body seems to want before your head can stop you.

“Fuck,” you curse – pushing him away with a gentle hand. “Thor – I can’t.”

“Why not,” he asks vehemently.

“You know why,” you reply. “I love them, Thor.”

He laughs at that – dry and brittle and weary. “You don’t even fully remember what your life was before them – what we were to each other.”

“I was with them when I did remember,” you murmur. “It didn’t change anything.”

That seems to cut him deep because he looks at you with utter agony written across his face. He stands there silently – tension riddled, fists clenching out and in by his sides.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I-I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Thor…”

“No I-“ Thor bites his lip, his face broken open and aching and you actually feel so god damn sorry that for a second, you really might just kiss him. “I-I just need a minute.”

He escapes down the steps and into the garden and you wonder if you should go after him.

It would just make things worse.

You didn’t completely remember your life with Thor in Asgard – not entirely. That was a thousand years of memories your mind seemed  incapable of processing. You  _did_ remember sleeping with him, though. You certainly recalled the way his fingers gripped you, pumped lightning beneath your skin – the way his lips felt.

But, that sex had been so marred by sadness and you hated yourself a little bit for giving Thor only the broken pieces of yourself when loneliness had left you desperate.

You’d never told Bucky or Steve about  _those indiscretions_.You hadn’t told them you’d slept with Tyr. It is hypocritical of you and you know it but, you have little desire to open that Pandora’s box just now.

You sigh, crossing your arms and staring off onto the grounds. Violent-blue clouds are moving across the blanketed sky, a breeze ruffles your hair – Goosebumps pimple your skin.

You feel a presence at your back – the hard warmth of a torso enveloping you. Strong palms graze your forearms and you close your eyes.

“Thor...seriously, you need to stop,” you sigh.

“Is he still trying to earn your affections?” A deep voice teases. “Gods – that idiot won’t get a clue.”

The gasp dies in your throat as you twist around, your dress tangled between your legs. Tyr is staring down at you, a lopsided grin painting his face. Wide blue eyes slick beneath the stars. The shadows cling to him – his cheekbones and jaw sharp against the night.

“What?” he asks curiously. “Is there no love between you and the prince anymore?”

“What are you talking about?” you snap, eyes glued to where Thor had disappeared. You won’t call for him – not yet.

“Let me tell you a story,” he drawls and he grips your wrist, pulling you towards him.

“Get the fuck off of me. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Nonsense. You will be a good girl and listen for fucking once!” He cocks an eyebrow, presses your back into the railing roughly enough to hurt. “How does it go again? Oh yes! Once upon a time, there was a beautiful little girl born from the sea or the sky – no one really knows – but, she was born to protect her kingdom and born to fight for its people. But, what she didn’t know was that she was also born for the God of War – born to soften him.”

Something familiar slips between your shoulder blades – presses you towards him. His eyes dance,  flutter across your face as he speaks –  _understanding._

“And the God of War discovered that he loved her – almost instantly he loved her and that had softened him somewhat but, not in the ways the gods believed. What he had discovered was that together – their power was too great to be shackled – too great to not be used for the benefit of their home – their kingdom.”

He touches your hair, his words now flowing on top of the other and making little sense.

“But, that little girl, despite being built for war, could not stomach it. She was too young…too naïve and so she left. She betrayed him – ran back to the all father and cried about the evils the God of War had committed. Ran back to her precious God of Thunder who had always loved her. He twisted her mind even further against her War God and as a result he was exiled – sent away until the All Father could think of what to do. He broke their engagement and had her betrothed to his own son.”

Your eyes widen and you push uselessly against his chest.

“Please stop.”

“You must remember,” he grits out, the blue of his eyes dramatically slipping into gold. Then red. Pulsating bright. His hand comes down across your wrist, grips it to a near crushing weight. “You will remember.”

“They will come here,” you whisper as you try and pull your hand away. “They will come outside to get me.”

“Shh,” he murmurs and he tugs you harder against him so, that you collapse into his arms. He cradles you there and he is strong –  _stronger than Thor_ even and his gaze makes you tired. “You must remember – “

“I do remember,” you lie. “I remembered it all.”

“No,” he says slyly, tenderly as if divulging a secret. “Not everything.”

Without another word, he slips his finger under your chin and presses his lips to yours. It’s a soft kiss – liquid and your mind goes slack as you struggle against him. But, the kiss changes – it dissolves into an inferno. Flame erupts beneath your skin. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the pink bloom of your power lashing out from your fingers – flowing and rolling around them. There is something ancient here and between them – unmitigated, overwhelming energy.

He breaks away from you –his gaze unbroken as it touches you in places you can’t reach.  You are boneless in his grip – foggy.

“We were always meant to be,” he grins as he crushes his lips to yours again.

* * *

_Odin, dark-haired with a smooth face, smiles down at you indulgently._

_“My dearest,” he says, gently running callused hands over your hair. “What have you been up to?”_

_You giggle despite yourself, pressing your ear to his breast. As you hear his heart beat, loud and echoing, you grin – kissing the skin there. Odin smiles._

_“What was that for?”_

_“I was checking to see if you were alive,” you explain._

_“Where is Thor?”_

_“Sulking,” you sigh. “I beat him at swords and he’s being in a mood all day about it.”_

_“And who is this little one?” A deep voice echoes across the hall._

_You turn sharply to see a figure at the entrance of the throne room. Decked in golden armor, the man strides towards them– unfazed by the crowds of people watching him. His shield and sword splattered with red._

_“Amora,” Odin replies. “Born from the sea and the sky – goddess of love.”_

_“There is also war there -,” he interrupts, his eyes flashing red._

_“The two intertwine,” Odin grunts as he gently releases you._

_You stare up at the man, his face is lovely.  More lovely than anything you have seen in your young life. Brown wavy hair flecked in auburn. Large, dangerous eyes. Golden brown skin. Knife-sharp jaw and dimpled chin. His expression is perfectly jovial – playful and soft. Beneath all that blood and flesh, his gaze is kind – draws you in._

_Here there are soft-spoken men and women, fine carpets and carved furniture, rich colors and textures, and the perfume of Asgardian flora. This man is a sharp fist through the quiet._

* * *

_The tears come hot and heavy – your skinny knee aching and open. Gushing dark blood in rivulets. Dirt and dust cakes your nose, your nails, your hair._

_You had fallen from the wall that bordered Frigga’s garden – bashed your knee into a sword-sharp rock. She would be so disappointed. She had warned you not to._

_Before you move, two strong arms wrap around your waist – lifting you up and spinning you around._

_“My little warrior,” Tyr cries – his voice soothing. “What has happened?”_

_He looks up at you with big blue eyes, the red in his iris muddled. He wipes at your face where the tears are smudged with dirt._

_“I fell,” you say softly._

_“Ah,” he sets you down on a stone bench, presses a hand to the injury. You watch it close, marvel at the way your skin stitches together._

_“Thank you,” you marvel._

_“It would have closed, regardless,” he observes. “Soon enough your skin will be harder than that rock you cut it on as you get older.”_

_“Soon enough,” you echo as you watch him._

_He’s dressed in fine robes – wrapped in red-rust and dark blue. A far cry from his usual costume of armor and blood._

_“How old are you?” you ask before you can stop yourself._

_He laughs before sitting down next to you on the bench. “Two thousand and thirty-five,” he reveals and you can’t help but, gape at him._

_“I wonder if I’ll ever be that old,” you reply, kicking your legs out from beneath you._

_In the distance, you can hear Thor and Loki bickering – the sound not unlike a buzz of insects. You wonder how miffed they’re going to be that the infamous God of War has graced you with his presence – has healed you._

_Before you can see their reactions, Tyr stands suddenly. He kisses your sooty hand before disappearing in a fog of red – leaving you alone in the garden._

* * *

_Centuries later, when you are grown – Tyr returns from a war that had kept him across the universe._

_You watch him – battle ravaged and beautiful. Ruby blood drips from his chin – splashes across his armor of gold as he climbs the steps of the palace and embraces Odin._

_There’s a celebration in his honor. Thor gets dead drunk much to the chagrin of his latest conquest who sits petulantly next to his hunched snoring body. Loki removes himself early on account of “people” in general. Your head is muzzy from wine, your body relaxed to the point of exhaustion. As you get up to leave you run straight into Tyr._

_He stops you from falling, his eyes studying you before widening._

_. “By the Norns, is it you?”_

_Your face heats up, his gaze unyielding as he releases you._

_“Hello, Tyr,” you say far more smoothly than you expected._

_He laughs before wrapping his arms around you and spinning you around. It makes you even dizzier and you have to bite your tongue to keep from stopping him._

_“You’ve grown,” he remarks as he lets you go._

_“Yes – time has a tendency to have that effect upon the body,” you say coolly._

_“Hah! Sarcastic, too?” He grabs a jug of wine and thrusts it towards you. “Come let us drink and speak more – I want to hear about how terribly boring it’s been without me here.”_

_“I would if I weren’t so tired,” you apologize, refusing to admit that you are in fact drunk. “I was going to go to bed.”_

_“Then I will escort you,” he offers, gripping your arm beneath his and leading you away and out of the great hall._

_“But, the torch bearers…” you murmur as you glance behind you at your royal guard. Odin had seen fit that you were continuously tailed by them._

_“No need - there are a thousand stars.” He smiles mischievously. “The moons are enough to light our way.”_

_Beneath Tyr’s tender expression, your heart pounds - relentless as a scared animal._

* * *

_There is relative peace in the galaxy and Tyr stays far longer than he ever has before._

_You are not immune to the gossip that surrounds him – that he is both frightening and powerful. That he is dangerously handsome and seductive and has bedded half the court. That he is so consumed by battle that he refuses to take a wife._

_None of this phases you because he has always been kind in your presence – and as for the women, well Thor is no different._

_And so, in the presence of Odin, he declares that he would have you fight beside him. He can help you manifest your powers – elevate your abilities to heights hardly dreamt of._

_“There is only so much you can learn in the safety of the palace,” he says to you one night._

_“I have fought outside Asgard,” you defend– irritated. “Thor has taken me with him to fight in skirmishes many times.”_

_“Child’s play,” he chuckles. “You were made for greater things, Amora.”_

_“Fine,” you say coyly because you will not pretend that the thought of fighting beside Tyr – having Tyr teach you these violent things – makes you shiver._

_“Teach me everything you know.”_

* * *

_They are unstoppable._

_Through many, many years - they fight for Asgard and keep their home safe. Always safe._

_As you take down a dark elf warship single-handedly – Tyr watches from afar. He laughs, grins with white perfect teeth and brilliant eyes. He meets you among the rubble._

_Without a word, he closes his arms around you, surprising you and holding you firmly to him as he rubs his cheek against your hair. “Amora. Amora. Amora,” he says. “The beautiful little girl grown into someone more radiant than any of us could have imagined.”_

_You shine beneath his praise._

_Tell me again, you think, tell me again._

_And as if he could read your mind, he looks down at your upturned face and repeats it for you.._

* * *

_The first time you use your powers – really use them – you feel it inside of yourself – a great penetrating sensation which is not unlike sex once you had thought about it later. It washes through you – spreads out and over the fields, clutching men by the throat and tearing. The battle is won in a flood of pink._

_You fall backwards and Tyr is at your side in an instant, lifting you to him._

_“You did it,” he says anxiously – excited. “You did it, little one!”_

_Your eyes flutter and you offer him a soft smile. “Thanks to you,” you say._

_He softens, cradling you closer to his chest._

_“Want me, Amora,” he whispers in a voice that rolls and tugs like waves from the sea – deep and dark and you respond like a pull to the tide. “Say that you do.”_

_You do not answer him but, merely rise up and press tentative lips against his own._

_He responds with gentleness and it is so shocking –so unlike his outward appearance- that it stuns you._

_“My girl,” he coaxes, petting your hair. “My Enchantress.”_

_The world weaves around them – a tapestry of song. The battle forgotten, the blood on their skins fading from sight. The sky dissolves into silver-blue and all you know is his lips upon yours._

* * *

_He asks Odin for your hand in the quiet chapel off of Frigga’s garden. The room is filled with devotional light –illuminating splendid wall paintings and the silver-veiled ceiling._

_He speaks to Odin as if there is little room for argument. His body commands preeminence – his powerful neck, his deep voice and coarsely shaven jaw that is rough enough to burn you. You were no longer a child – far from it and he had surely stolen your heart the moment he had met you._

_But, was it love? Or maybe, lust? He had seduced you in a sense – seduced you and set your blood on fire. Taught you how to let go – taught you how to fight hard and fight to win._

_“My beloved,” he murmurs, thick fingers in your hair. “My beloved.”_

_“I want you to be happy,” he presses. “Forever happy with me.”_

_Something shatters in the distance and you whirl around to see Thor has broken his fist through the stone column. The lamps touch his blonde hair – makes it glorious. They catch the surface of his eyes and you see tears._

_He hated Tyr – despised him._

_He leaves the room  - the dull roar of his heart obvious to yours ears. You race after him despite Tyr’s attempt at stopping you._

_When you finally reach his bedroom, he is distraught. His expression clearly heartbroken._

_“You cannot marry him,” he roars – tossing a marble chair out the window._

_“You are acting like a child, Thor,” you scream back. “This is ridiculous.”_

_His eyes glimmer black – his lips peeling back from teeth._

_“You do not know him,” he warns. “You do not know what he really is…what they say about him.”_

_“And you think you know him better than me?” you snap._

_“I know enough, Amora,” he replies sadly. “I know enough.”_

* * *

_In Alfheim, you come upon a witch who demands to read your hand. Tyr is busy with matters relating to the Ljósálfar and their kingdom and so, you take her up on the offer._

_Her eyes are violet, twilight sky, with a vast emptiness beyond the flicker of the melting candles. Stars dance in her black hair, her lush lower lip is painted blue and stands out against her angular, pale face. Pointed chin and ears._

_The woman casts bones across the oak table top. Thin bleached pieces of dragon toes and wolf. Elf teeth, too._

_Silence. A beat. A second._

_A great hiss flies from the woman’s mouth as she stares down at the scattered bones. You watch as her expression comes undone, sagging and gaping at the corners. Eyes turn black and blood begins to trickle from her nose and then the side of her mouth._

_“He will kill you in all the ways it counts,” the woman says – hushed and terrified. “He will never let you go.”_

_There is a great stirring and the bones whirl into flame – blackening and thinning, snapping to pieces of fragment then reducing to cinders that skitter and smoke. Particles dance and cling to your lip and hair as you back away from the woman’s tent._

_When Tyr finds you alone and frightened outside the burnt witch’s home – he does not say anything._

_He already knows._

* * *

_The battles grow worse and Tyr grows worse with them. It is as if the violence ignites him – manipulates his desires and actions into dark, demented things._

_You watch as Tyr stops one of the enemy creatures with a single hand. His palm surrounds its skull before crushing it, blood gushing down his forearm as the thing gives one last cry for mercy. He hurls it into the air and it crashes to the ground – limbs breaking loose._

_He laughs, running his bloody hand through his hair so, that it stands up – his eyes crazed. He dashes off into the distance and your stomach sours._

_Darkness falls thick – the skyline merging with the great lake ahead of them. Fireballs reflect like burst stars across its surface. You have lost Tyr in the fray._

_Hours later, you hear terrified shrieking, smoke is billowing in the distance and you run towards it._

_A cave is billowing flame – orange and red pulsating with a heat so intense you back away. Inside – the screams of terrified small creatures._

_In the firelight, Tyr turns to you, grin menacing as he holds the great torch that set the fire._

_“What did you do, Tyr,” you say as the full realization of what has happened barrels into you._

_“What I had to,” he replies coldly before tossing the torch into the cave and lunging for you. He grips you around the waist – kisses you hard and you taste blood and ash. The battle makes him lusty – makes him unmoored._

_You bite his lip hard enough that it breaks under your teeth._

_“You killed children!” you sob, wrenching your arm out of his._

_“Not Asgardian children,” he shrugs._

_“What does it matter! They are still children – still innocent,” you nearly screech. “How could you?”_

_“That is the price of war, Amora,” he growls. “It always has been.”_

_“You enjoyed it,” you hiss._

_“Of course,” he proclaims - his eyes wide. “I was made for battle. It is in my blood. My veins. There is no greater purpose than that.”_

_He raises his eyebrows, observing your horrified expression in disbelief._

_“To find joy in my destiny is not something to be ashamed about,” he continues. “It is part of you, as well.”_

_“I will never do that,” you spit – nearly dazed with the horror of what you had seen._

_“It will get easier, my love,” he murmurs, his arms reaching for you. “By my side – we will be unstoppable –this remorse you feel will dim to nothing.”_

_“No,” you reply coldly. Your heart is beating a thousand miles a minute. You silently call to Heimdall – beg him to interfere. Tyr is too strong for you. You would not be able to escape him alone._

_“What do you mean no?” he asks confused – the barest hint of frustration plaguing his features._

_“I will not continue this,” you say. “I-I can’t be with you.”_

_His expression morphs, anger eroding his handsomeness with each second._

_“You don’t have a choice,” he growls. “It’s in the fates. The stars. It is done.”_

_“It is not done!” you threaten. “Odin would never force me into something I did not want. He would be horrified to know that these are the lengths you go to to win.”_

_“Would he?” he grins menacingly. “Odin does not care the means I go to in order to win for Asgard. He never has.”_

_“Together we are too powerful, Tyr,” you whisper. “I will not aid you in this. I will never be like you.”_

_He laughs hard and fast, guttural._

_“Beloved, you are everything like me,” he says roughly, jerking you forward so quickly you gasp. His breath is a hot brush against your mouth and you arch backwards. It only forces your chest into his, emphasizes the rise and fall of his diaphragm and the thick muscle of his torso. “Love has softened you but, it won’t for long,” he insists. “The more you fight – the more you stay by my side it will all fall away – the fears, the sadness, the guilt…the mercy.”_

_“Monster,” you curse because you are completely at a loss of what to say – what to tell him._

_Tyr stares at you in shock. His eyes filling with blood as it drips down his cheeks._

_The blood of his enemies coursing in rivers – invigorating him and making him all the more powerful._

_This is the real him, you realize, this menacing, violent thing is what he always has been._

_He reaches towards you but, then you feel warm hands tug at your back and Heimdall’s voice in your ear._

_“Come now, little one,” he demands and the world turns light._

* * *

_Thor smiles. “Surely it can’t be any worse to marry me over that idiot?”_

_Tyr has been missing for years. Odin had exiled him upon your return – claiming that you were meant to soften the god – to teach him restraint and kindness and love.  It had fallen apart. Tyr would never change._

_And then, because Odin believed himself to be close to death, he had asked that you marry his oldest son and be Queen. You were fairly certain he wasn’t close to death at all but, you agreed – humoring the old man._

_You would not dig into all the accusations Tyr had revealed about the All Father – that his own desires for power had made him brutal. You could not unmask another one of your childhood heroes._

_You sigh, pressing your palms against your eyes. ._

_“Of course, it’s not,” you reply as you reach for Thor’s hand. He tangles his fingers with yours and the feeling is comforting._

_“I believe – well, I think – with time, you will grow to love me,” he stammers and your head snaps over to meet his weary expression._

_“Thor – don’t be silly, I do love you,” you declare._

_He smiles and the garden around you shimmers with a dull heat. The doors of your villa stand open. Trickling fountains. Green moss growing along pools of water. Asgardian fruit trees bulging with produce. Marble statues of sensuous gods and goddesses encircled with flowers of rich purple and blue. One figure rises like the sun through a bed of orange blossoms, the marble old and pitted. You stare at his blank face – the cracks of algae on his skin._

_Small common white flowers grows wild beneath your feet, old trees with twisted trunks that had once been so wonderful to climb as children._

_You did love Thor. He had been at your side since you were born. You’d be a fool not to._

_Thor leans forward and kisses you cautiously, a sweet mingling of dry lips beneath the flood of the sun. You cup his face and pull him closer – taste his breath._

_It feels safe; a feeling that had evaded you for some time._

* * *

_“But, where are you going?” Thor asks. Heimdall is staring at you from the gates of the Bifrost – golden eyes all-knowing as they welcome you. He had lead you down this path – told you of all the treachery Tyr had wrought._

_“Midgard,” you reply. “He is there – helping in a war he shouldn’t be and I won’t just stand by and allow him to do that.”_

_“But, father said – “_

_“Odin does not care to get involved with Midgard. If Tyr is out of his way and not sniffing around me then he does not see it necessary to punish him.”_

_“You cannot go alone, Amora,” Thor growls. “He is much stronger than you.”_

_“I won’t fight him,” you shrug. “I’m just going to aid where I can.” You spin around to stare at him, offer him a playful smile. “Think of me as a little busy ghost playing in the shadows.”_

_“I will come with you,” he declares, grabbing your wrist._

_“You won’t,” you retort before softening your tone. “We can’t have this turn into a full on battle of the gods. None of us are supposed to be there.”_

_His eyebrows furrow and he frowns. You immediately grip his face, running the pad of your thumb over his lips._

_Your Thor was always so protective_

_“I will come back,” you whisper. “I promise… I will come back to you and Asgard.”_

_“Be safe,” he implores before curling his hands around your skull and kissing you breathless._

_When you open your eyes – you see nothing but, snow. Then – the telltale smell of smoke. Men in dark green and brown. Your hand wraps around the pommel of your sword. You feel a calling here – deeper than you’ve ever known. Something like a second skin – something calling to your blood high-pitched and wailing._

_Tyr fades – his face fades. You didn’t realize it at the time. Not at all._

_Time to begin, you think to yourself._

* * *

You shudder as if waking from a dream, your limbs tensing reflexively. Stiffening as panic begins to override your senses – you’re clutching at him as you try and find the will to draw yourself back.

“Let me go.”

It comes out as a muffled whimper against his chest – the embrace suddenly, violently unpleasant.

Your head pulls back and Tyr is staring down at you through heavy lidded eyes. A perilous smile teasing his lips

“Let me go,” you try again, harsher – more desperate.

“In a moment,” he says huskily and you can’t find the strength to force him away.

. “But-but, I didn’t remember you,” you whisper, finding your gaze drawn to his chest. “After the war…with Peggy…I didn’t recognize you?”

“Age-old tricks, sweetheart,” he says. “I simply made your mind forget what I had looked like – made you think me a stranger.”

He releases you gently. His thumb coming to slip down your cheek. “But,  _you did_  remember me – somewhere deep down you did. I could see it – you were drawn to me. You needed me.”

Your heart slams in your chest at the thought of what they had done. How you had ripped at his clothing and practically, wordlessly, begged him to fuck you.

_You had been so lonely. So alone and without Bucky or Steve. – you had thought them cold and dead._

You shove at his chest and he backs away – unbothered.

“You tricked me,” you say. “You’ve consistently tricked me since I was a child.”

At that, his eyes blaze up, his brow darkening and his lips curl back. He lunges for you, grabbing your arms and pressing your back against the balcony.

“No,  _Amora_ ,” Your old name burns like a curse on his tongue. “I never  _tricked_ you. I showed you exactly who I was and who we could be together. You simply were too frightened and too young to handle it.”

“I was not frightened!” you reply, your strength beginning to return as an age-old anger floods your core. “I just wasn’t a fucking mad psychopath like you!”

“You are infuriating!” He lets go of you, whirling around and pressing his fists to his eyes. “You’ve spent too long on this forsaken planet with these idiots.”

You glare up at him. “Pretty sure I had the same opinion of you before I even stepped foot on Midgard.”

He lunges for you again before suddenly stopping. His eyes shine and he frowns.

“Perfect timing as usual,” he notes. He kisses you hard enough to bruise before disappearing in a reddish gloom. The faint scent of musky incense clinging to the fog.

Your hear your name from across the way and turn to see Thor racing towards you.

He grips you tightly around your biceps, pulls you up from your collapsed position.

“Who has so distressed you?” he snarls, his eyes chasing the shadow. “I heard a voice…”

You stare up at him – slightly dazed and he shakes you gently.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you reply softly – toneless. Tyr’s mouth had left your lips stinging with him. “There wasn’t anyone here – I just drank too much I-I think.”

Thor’s brows knits together, he opens his mouth again before shutting it.

“Are you certain?” he presses. “You look – you don’t look well.”

“I’m perfectly fine, Thor,” you snap and turn away from him

* * *

The black eight ball slams into a corner pocket for the eighth time that night.

“I win,” Bucky drawls. “Again.”

Steve scowls before taking another swallow of his Old Fashioned. The Asgardian liquor has worn off - leaving him dry mouthed and slightly sweaty.

“Sure you’re not cheating, Buck?”

“What?!” Bucky squawks – perfectly scandalized. “I’ve never cheated once in my life. Take it back, jerk!”

“That’s a lie,” he replies primly. “You cheated at cards regularly back during the war.”

Bucky gapes at him.

“Didn’t think I didn’t know, huh?” Steve smirks. “Oh how the mighty have fallen…”

Sam chuckles from his place beneath the pool table – he’s laid out on the cold ground, head pillowed on his arms. Steve bends down to check on him.

“You gonna sleep down there, Sam?”

“Mmmyeah let a man get some shut eye,” he slurs. “We’ll be ready to run in a few hours.”

“I doubt that,” Bucky snorts as he pulls the balls out of the pockets.

The door to outside smashes open and causes every eye to fly towards it. You’re stomping inside – your hair tangled and your dress slightly falling over your shoulder – your expression is… _haunted_.

You rush right by Steve’s outreached grasp and into the hallway. Steve shoots Bucky a panicked look and the two go flying after you.

They chase you into your room – the flower in your hair falling to the floor as you crush it beneath your feet.

“Sweetheart?” Bucky calls to you.

You spin around and grab him by the lapels of his jacket – yank his face to yours and kiss him – kiss him  _hard_. You are hot to the touch – charged warmth as you loop your arms around his neck and plunge your tongue into his mouth.

He pushes you gently off of him, watches the way your eyes flit wildly between him and Steve.

“Baby,” he coaxes. “You’re trembling. What happened?”

You visibly stiffen; squeeze your eye shut before opening them again.

“Nothing,” you say calmly. “Nothing at all.”

You push him backwards towards the bed as Steve follows. You straddle his waist as you run your hands through his hair. You lean over him to kiss Steve – open-mouthed and wet. You cry when Steve pulls away from you and he looks alarmed.

“What about needing time?” Bucky presses.

“Fuck time,” and the way you sound is anything but, ordinary. You sound like gravel and light and nothing on earth.

You trace a finger around his mouth, peer down at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

You look like you invented sadness, like there is a grief there that he can’t reach – an eternity furrowed by sorrow. Bucky does not know where this came from and he’s scared for you.

When you lean forward, you kiss him sloppy and desperate. Steve cups your ass to pull you down on Bucky’s lap roughly.

“Take everything,” you whisper. “You can’t hurt me.”

He hesitates, uncertain due to the way you’re looking at them. He wonders if everything has caught up with you – if you’re mourning your own death. He doesn’t want to question it though. Not now.

“Please, Bucky,” you beg. “Please – god – please I need both of you.”

He gives in without question.


	10. Chapter 10

In the weeks that follow, there’s something different about you. A part of you slightly off.

Steve has little idea what’s wrong but, he thinks it has something to do with the night of Tony’s Gala.

You’d been heartbroken about something – shattered in ways he couldn’t discern.

But, the sex – well, the sex had been fucking perfect. Wet and sweaty and desperate.

_“Won’t leave you again,” you promise, words deep and low – eyes fixed on Steve’s as he thrusts up and into you._

_“Damned right,” Steve growls, body rising as he kisses your mouth._

_Buck’s hands are in your hair – fucking you from behind and Steve can feel him – pressed against the thin skin of your insides._

_The two of them take you hard and love you harder. You wrap your arms around Steve’s neck and pant against his throat, mewl and moan as he bites down on your shoulder. Your pebbled nipples brush against his chest – the muscles of your stomach rolling in sync with his own as your hips grind down on him._

_It’s too much all at once and then you turn your head, hand clawing at Bucky’s hair and bring him down to kiss you – and it’s  a mess of pink tongues disappearing into each other’s mouths while Steve watches and waits and burns. You twist yourself back to Steve – smile at him fully before gripping his head and leading him to Bucky –_

_And then Bucky’s lips are on his with his metal hand furiously clenched in his hair and it feels right – feels far better than the time it was only the two of them fucking alone and desperate because they were so god damn sad._

_Skin slick with seat, eyes glistening and half-mast with desire, lips bruised with kisses and you have never been more beautiful to him. Meld of your mouth to his, Bucky’s hands on his shoulder, across his back – gripping him tight and pulling him in with every shove of his cock– timed rhythm and your body jolts with the force of them both at the apex of their thrusts._

There had been more sex – more continuous nights of them tangled together and sated. Desperation coloring his tongue as he licked you - certainly desperate for you in ways he hadn’t been before.

Fear of losing you again most likely the culprit for keeping him weak and needy.

Steve watches you in the dark. Your skin still dewy with fresh sweat from their previous round of love making. He thinks of licking your flesh to sample it – savor the slight tang. Almost, immediately his cock stirs between his legs and he takes a deep breath to calm himself.

He curls himself against your side – skims your cheek as he watches you sleep.

Bucky is pressed tightly against your back, face shoved in the crook of your shoulder.

You’d been  _different_  –  _altered_. He’s not sure exactly how or why but, it burned behind your eyes like a black flame.

All of a sudden you were now training alone and training often.

He’d catch you by the lake at odd hours, fingers webbed with pink and red tendrils of energy as you lounged – sprawled out in the grass.  The summer haze clinging to the shores – casting you in a brilliant gold and soft rose where the trees gave up their shade.

He sat next to you – the damp, rich scent of the earth caked between his toes. Your feet in the water and the hem of your dress creased in the mulch from the bottom. He tangled his fingers in yours – feeling the crisp, bright singe of your power curl across his palm.

You glanced down at his hands with a frown before dragging your gaze back up to him. A shadow of some dark though crossing your face and though your expression remained placid with a soft smile – your eyes were cold.

You were shutting him out.

Steve turns over in his bed, the sheets tangling with his legs as he tries to get comfortable. His heart beats loud in his chest – he works his lip over with his teeth.

Now, that he thought about it – you barely were spending time with him or Bucky aside from when they went to bed.

He hears you sigh softly into the darkness and he reaches his hand out to run through your hair – even in the blue light of the room he can see your face still bright with pleasure – burnished against his fingertips that brush over your temple.

 _You were alright_  he assures himself.

_You were alright._

* * *

Thor does not know what you’re playing at.

There had been no word about Tyr – no inkling about his location and he hadn’t made himself known. There was nothing to be done but, to wait and you seemed completely unbothered by it all.

“If he shows, he shows,” you had said. ‘But, there are other emergencies that need our help.”

So – everyone was in agreement – they’d take him on when it came to it.

But, that wasn’t what was really bothering Thor.

You were acting strangely. In the weeks that had followed Stark’s party, you had been keeping him on edge. In team meetings, you’d stare at him meaningfully with jeweled eyes from across the table. Steve on your left and Bucky on your right and there you were looking at him like you missed him – cherished him.

It made him ache.

“What do you see?” you murmur into his ear – hot breath against his skin - and Thor stumbles a bit.

The two of you are stuck in Dublin – keeping eyes on an arms dealer who favors a pub on Crown Alley. Right now, they’re hiding out in a tiny apartment that overlooks the pub in question – The Old Storehouse.

Thor likes Ireland – he likes the green hills and the brick buildings and the simple bars with all their wood and gas light.

“He’s drinking another beer. Body guards on his right and left and down the block,” Thor mutters – feeling your breasts brush his back.

‘Well – sources say that Pierre St. John is meeting him so, I guess we just keep watch.”

“I wasn’t made for recon,” Thor grumbles. “I’m the muscle. Give me a fight.”

You laugh and it’s perfectly melodic – disastrously beautiful. You squeeze his arm, stroke the skin there.

_Fuck me_

“What muscles they are,” you purr.

Again, Thor stammers a bit. He peers up at you and you’re smiling innocently. You’d never been this affectionate – even the times they did lay together – you’d been rough and sharp – demanding only the force of him.

No playfulness at all.

He swallows a bit and returns to watching the target drink.

“Thor?”

“Hmm?”

“Remember when you fucked me in that bathroom?”

Thor’s head hits the window pane – his heart stops in his chest. He whips around to look at you – your eyes studying him, lip caught between your teeth.

“What? Why are you saying this?” he stutters.

You lunge for him and he leaps backwards – his back slamming into the floral wall-paper – peeling in white curls. He can smell the mold in the pipes. The wall creaks under the weight of him and then you’re right there – body pressed tightly against his. You run your hands over his shoulders, encircle around his neck.

“Thor,” you sigh.

He forgets to breathe. You smell like gardenia – like petals and smoke and that distinct smell of woman flesh. You’re oozing with it – oozing with enough desire that he can taste it on the air.

He feels your hip against his thigh – the warm, soft curve of your breast.  _Oh god._

“Wha-“

You seal his lips with your own and they are so soft – soft as he remembered. He doesn’t think – simply turns his head to slant his mouth on top of yours – deepening the kiss.  Your tongue slides along his lower lip before delving into his mouth. He can taste you, soft and fresh and sweet like honey and mint.

“My love,” Thor pants - voice hoarse and heavy – gritty with longing. You look at him – your eyes dark and  _something else_  ­ - something murky there in the iris.

“You have me, Thor,” you tell him, fingers carding through his hair – raking it back from the places it has fallen into his eyes. His heart is beating as rapidly as bird wings – fluttering and panicked and excited.

And yours – yours is beating steady – beating calm – beating like you aren’t really there at all.

He frowns, curling his index finger around a strand of your hair. “I want all of you,” he says slowly. “Every part.”

You pull away from – fall back against the bed. Body splayed out with elbows on the bedspread and legs open – hair wild and lips bitten.

“You can have all of me, Thor,” you promise smoothly.

But, it sounds off – it sounds strange and Thor has no idea why.

He moves toward you – leaning down to cover your body with his. He takes your face between his hands and kisses you again, tongue plunging between your lip.

He tastes the honey again – tastes the mint – then tastes ashes.

You taste like what he can’t have.

He pulls away from you – the back of his hand against his lips.

“What is it?” you ask - brow arching.

“Steve,” he says. “Bucky – they –you are with them still.”

You shrug – your fingers ripping at the white strands in the old blanket.

“They won’t know,” you say softly. “They won’t know a thing.”

_No. No this isn’t you,_

“What’s the matter with you?” he asks – cold in his voice. Frigid. He doesn’t like this version of yourself.

You simply stare at him – something demented and broken circling around in your expression.

And then you are rising before stalking out of the room. Clouded eyes and distrustful grimace.

He’d never seen you behave in quite that manner.

Thor reaches for his phone – thinks of calling Rogers – calling anyone because he knows something is terribly wrong.

He doesn’t though – he can’t.

Perhaps, he will if it gets really bad.

At least, he tells himself that.

* * *

_You dream so often now. Dream of so many things – of lives half-remembered in bruising Technicolor._

_You don’t want this._

_He hovers over you, muscles  in his back bunching and moving against the hell-fire-scape of his dominion. His mouth brushes against the shell of your ear as he speaks._

_“Do you feel that, min kjaere,” he murmurs._

_The heat of him warms the side of your face – the rush of hot breath sends pleasure spiking down your body._

_He settles his weight carefully between your legs, rough stubble of his jaw scrubbing your cheek. He lines himself against you – angles his hips down causing you to suck in sharply. The juncture between your thighs is lit up – molten fire waiting for him._

_“My only love,” he croons. “My only one.”_

_He turns his head to kiss you – capturing your mouth and pulling you into him – into the deepest kind of blackness._

_“Yes-s,” you mewl – drawing out the syllable until it has no end. “Yes.”_

A cold hand shakes you awake. Your eyes drift open to see Bucky staring down at you – concern wrinkling his brow.

“You alright, darlin?”

Steve is already there – always present – the feel of his chest overwhelming at your back.

Too much of them. Too much. You don’t like it.

But, you love them. You love them.

_My only love. Only You._

You slide your hands down Bucky’s torso to grip his soft cock between your hands. Rub your thumb against the vein there and he bucks up against you. It gets hard immediately – like magic.

Steve’s fingers stroke your pussy and you’re wet already – wet from your dream – slick from that all that power  _he_  shoved inside you.

You pull Bucky into you – burn with something greater than fire.

“Make it dark,” you demand. “Make it rough.”

Bucky sinks his teeth into your throat. Steve pinches your nipple and twists.

“That’s how I want it,” you pant as they descend upon you.

* * *

A vase of big drowsy lilies sit by your bed. Savage. Vagrant florals. Almost lurid looking as purple irises spring up from beneath them. They shiver in their pot. Ragged little petals.

“Who gave these to you?” Bucky asks, the flowers are nearly organ-like. They freak him out.

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “Doesn’t everyone get flowers in their rooms? I thought it was Pepper or something.”

“They’re probably from some General or Secretary of State,” Steve says. “I’m sure it had a card – “

“Oh yes,” Bucky cuts in. “Something saying ‘Welcome back from the dead’?”

Steve shoots him an irritated glance before anxiously looking at you. You’re not even listening – your back is pressed against the headboard as you run your hand over your stomach. You’re just staring. Eyes gone glassy.

You had been all over the place – hot and cold, emotional yet detached, needy but distancing yourself from everything and everyone.

You’d come back from Dublin even more disengaged – more troubled.

You wouldn’t talk about it – the only times you seemed remotely all there was during sex and those were the times you asked for it to be aggressive and nearly painful.

It’s not like he could have an intimate conversation when he was buried to the hilt inside you with your face shoved into your pillow.

You stretch your legs out – back arching like a cat. Face warming up beneath their looks. Connection clicking right then – right there. You turn back on.

“Want to fuck?” you ask lazily – enormous eyes flashing black as obsidian.

* * *

“I-I can’t feel anything,” you murmur to yourself one night.

Steve’s been sketching you for the past twenty minutes – Bucky is curled up at your feet doing a crossword.

“What’d you say?” Steve asks – fingers stained in lead.

“I f-feel blocked off,” you stammer. “I-I don’t know. I just - my head has been so bad lately. Hurts all the time.”

“Honey – why didn’t you tell us?” Steve urges, tossing his sketchpad to the table. “Let’s get you to Cho – “

“N-no,” you interrupt him. “It’s just headaches – I’m sure leftover stuff from the memory loss.”

“We’ll go tomorrow,” Bucky urges you.

You ignore him, staring down at your bare thigh – the skin shimmering in the lamp light.

You look up at Steve suddenly – your gaze slightly dazed. “Why are you with me?”

“Come again?”

Your face changes as your brow wrinkles.

You glare at him, sizzling with anger and the conflict in yourself, eyes flashing at him in the shadowed light.

“Baby,” Steve says. “C’mon – what are you talking about?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Bucky teases, touching your ankle. “You’re gonna make me cry with you going on like that.”

You laugh in spite of yourself. Face softening beautifully, mouth twisting into an unwilling smile.

Mysterious – he thinks. You’re so fucking mysterious now - a baffling mixture of sharpness and softness.

Perhaps – he is confusing the coldness with the strength in you.

Steve grows quiet with slight worry. He looks at the mirror are the far end of the room and sees all three of their tiny reflections there, the pale light from the heavy lamps on your bedside tables – countless images of you three caught between two mirrors, marching on in golden light into eternity.

You stand up – stepping away from the couch, knees knocking into Bucky who drops his pencil. You sigh loudly - pushing the heels of your hands against your eyes.

A laugh dry and brittle sparks from your mouth and sends ice into Steve’s veins.

You round on them both – gaze chasing between the two.

“Do you love me?” you ask. “Do you enjoy it?”

“What?” Bucky asks – stunned.

“Do you enjoy loving me?” There’s a tremor in your voice.

“Honey, what do you mean? I love loving you,” Steve says. “The both of us love you more than anything.”

“But, it’s so awful,” you whine. “Everything always goes so wrong.”

Bucky grips your arms – brings you towards him. He needs the physicality, the touch of you to tell you – to mean it. “Sure, darling,” he says. “It can be scary because you aren’t like anyone else out there. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life – and you’re so strong. So unbelievably strong – “

“Yes,” you agree, nodding. “I could kill you both right now if I wanted to. All of your strength – all of the serum wouldn’t help at all.”

Bucky glances at Steve, frowning.

“Well no, I didn’t mean it that way, baby,” Bucky starts before you look up at him.

For a moment, the shadows cut your face into something cold and cunning. Eyes gleaming brightly – the slight paling of pink light in your iris. You look… _malicious_.

You reach for him and he instinctively shrinks back, the hairs on his neck prickling hotly. He feels as if he’s staring down a viper – nestled in the grass.

“What’s the matter with you,” he whispers.

But, then – as if he has been doused in frigid water, he realizes you’re shivering. You face gains a gray pallor as you clench your fists. You look down at them – your expression despaired. “You don’t know what I can do,” you murmur. “What I’m truly capable of – what I’m meant for...”

Bucky is desperate to help you but, he doesn’t know what the hell you’re going on about. Now, you’re really shaking – bottom lip snatched between your teeth as your heart audibly hammers in your chest.

Steve takes over – wraps his arms around your waist to center you.

“Sweetheart, stop it,” he says. “You’re hurting yourself.”

You look at your palms and they’re bleeding – tender skin snapped open with your own strength.

Your eyes peer up at them again and there’s hostility there – superhuman flash of it.

A beat of silence. A heavy, sweltering ache of tension.

“I fucked Thor,” you say bluntly.

And it’s like a bomb – a truth laid out and brutally delivered to them. Steve releases you – stepping backwards. He had known that there had at least been something between you two. Something affectionate and tense but, he had always assumed it was nothing beyond platonic love – sibling connection.

He grips his chest – tries to sooth the precarious beating of his heart.

He feels small again – feels like he’s pre-serum. He stares up at you and there is nothing there – just shifting eyes and curious interest for his reaction.

Bucky steps forward – his posture domineering – he’s wound tight enough to snap and it’s radiating into Steve.

“What?” Bucky growls. “When?”

“I don’t know – nineteen – seventy –something,” you sigh. “We were kind of engaged on Asgard- I mean we were at least engaged when I came down here and fought with you.”

Again – you’re totally unmoved – more truths spilling from you and falling to the floor to shatter all over them

“Why are you telling us now?” Steve manages to say.

You cock your head to the side – bite your lip in that seductive way you have. “Maybe – I wanted to hurt you just a little.”

It’s mean – you’re being  _mean_. He sees the excitement there – the toying playfulness that is begging for pain – for tears and hatred.

He’ll give you fury then.

He lunges for you – slamming you into the ground, mouth against your ear.

“You want me angry?” he hisses. “You want me to take you like this?”

He doesn’t know what he’s doing – he doesn’t want to hash this out and talk. He wants to fuck you and the feeling is deliberate. It overtakes him.

You smirk up at him – pink energy shifting around your hair – coiling up and out and wrapping around his neck. You barely use your powers when they have sex and here you are exploding with them.

It feels different – feels so different – and alien and Steve might burst into tears but, he needs to fill you first.

“Yes, Stevie,” you murmur – calm as lake water. “I want that very much.”

He bends his head to kiss you – lips meeting yours in a violent tangle. Tongue fisting itself into your mouth as he pins your wrists beside your head.

You’re laughing through it all – eyes dancing for him. Suddenly, Bucky is yanking him off of you and he rounds on him before stopping himself.

“Bed,” Bucky grunts.

They take their turns.

His knuckles brush teasingly between your legs – enjoying how you quiver as you lean weakly against Bucky’s chest. He shoves his boxers down, licks his knuckles and tastes the tang of your slick – watching as Bucky picks you up by the hips and moves you until your knees are planted on either side of Steve on the bed.

You smell like electricity – sweetness curbed by danger.

He doesn’t know how they got here – how it all went from him sketching your relaxed face to you stretched between them and panting.

_And Thor. Thor!_

_Jesus fuck._

He sounds crazy – he feels crazy.

It comes to him in waves – visions of Thor fucking you – fucking his girl.  _His._

He feels you clamp down on his cock.

“Come on, I can’t stop,” you plead – face hot to the touch. “Give it to me.”

“Did he fuck you like this?” Steve growls.

Bucky’s hand is in your hair, wrenching it back – licking up the rigid line of your throat.

“Oh yes,” you giggle again. “Yes.”

_You aren’t like this. You’re never like this. This isn’t you._

He sucks your nipple into his mouth, bites down on the skin of your breast and you mewl.

You’re fucking them just as much as they’re fucking you.

Your hips rolling and moving and bearing down on him while, pressing back against Bucky’s thrusts.

His fingers dig into your thigh – so, hard he knows he’s hurting you.

“There you go, Steve,” you encourage him. “There you go – “

He comes just from that – from your slick words and tight cunt shoving down on him like a force of nature.

Bucky follows – mouth still against your hair. His eyes awfully sad and not really angry anymore.

You push them both away – curl up on your side as you breathe deeply, your body shaking.

He can hear your heart pounding now – wildly running against your breast bone.

Before he can speak to you – Friday’s voice bursts from the intercom.

“You are all needed in the hangar in fifteen minutes. Emergency terrorist attack. Mr. Stark will brief you on the jet.”

Steve swallows thickly – pushes his anger down in favor of the mission. This is good.

He can concentrate on this – a perfect distraction.

Because if he thinks of you – of all that’s currently wrong with you – he’ll get sick.

* * *

“Doll,” Bucky hollers as he races towards you. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You look down at your hands – the head of one of the terrorist group members is staring Bucky down with milky eyes. Blood drips onto your boots – drips all over the sandy floor. The body is crumbled and tossed aside – five feet from the head.

“Killing the bad guys,” you reply simply – dropping the leftover flesh so that it lands with a squelch.

“We were told to take them in,” he reminds you – feeling ill. “They’re supposed to be put on trial.”

You stare at him – eyes big and bold and slightly annoyed.

“Doesn’t sound very fair,” you say. “They tried to blow up the building – there are kids in there – “

“And they failed,” Bucky cuts in. “C’mon – we’re just arresting them.”

You bite your lip in thought – work the skin over with your sharp, white teeth.

Bucky can’t quite believe that he was just cock deep in you only hours ago. His jealousy spikes once again and he shakes it off.

At least, Thor didn’t come on this mission.

He walks right up to you, catches your wrist in his hand. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he coaxes. “Let’s go.”

You shrug but, instead of walking with him you pull his gun from his holster and fire a bullet into each of their foreheads. Six bullets. Six sprays of blood spilling behind them like a Pollock painting.

“Jesus Christ!” Bucky yells, yanking the gun out of your hands.

“Looks like we don’t have to take them in,” you observe curtly before leaving him with the bodies and the blood.

* * *

Bucky is trying to catch up with Steve as he marches towards your room. He’d debriefed him on your little murder display and Steve had been shaken to say the least.

_“There’s something wrong with her,” he murmurs._

_“You think?” Bucky hisses. “I tried to talk her down and it was like – it was like there was nothing there behind her eyes. And – “_

_“And what?”_

_Bucky sighs, rubs at the week-old stubble on his jaw. “It was like she enjoyed it.”_

_Steve curses – gripping the edge of the pilot seat. They turn to look at you. Your back is against the wall and you’re peering down at your feet – drawing patterns with the toe of your boot._

_Blood smeared on your forehead and blood embedded in your nails._

_Bucky runs a shaky hand through his hair – tastes dirt on his lip. “Do you think – fuck – do you think she came back wrong?”_

_Steve doesn’t have a reply to that – doesn’t know what he’d do if that was true._

_“We need to talk to her,” he finally whispers. “We need to figure this out.”_

_“We will when we land,” Bucky assures him._

And as soon as the jet had pulled into the hangar – you were off, waving them goodbye and heading straight for your room.

“So how do we approach this?” Bucky asks, narrowly missing knocking his shoulder into one of Stark’s sculptures in the hallway.

“I don’t know,” Steve says grimly. “I guess delicately?”

“She’s like three kinds of crazy right now – she’s not going to respond to delicate –“

“Well – what do you want me to do - tie her up?” Steve hisses as they come to a stop at your door.

“With what?” Bucky snaps back. “Does Tony keep chains to hold Gods down in storage?”

“Stop joking.”

“I’m not – I’m actually fucking scared right now.”

Bucky’s throat tightens up – his eyes burn and he tries to hold it back. “I can’t lose her again, Steve,” he cracks. “I really can’t.”

Steve grips his shoulder tenderly, a calming pressure on his collar bone. “We won’t, Buck,” he promises. “We’ll save her if it comes to that.”

Bucky offers a tight smile before nodding at the door. “Let’s talk to our girl, then.”

* * *

They don’t expect to walk in on you sitting statue-still on the couch.

You’re upright, hair spilling from your ponytail, dirt still marring your face. Your hands are coated in sticky blood – staining your spotless couch in patterns like a garish finger painting. Moonlight is streaming from the window – drifting over your skin and hair – illuminating everything in a opalescent gleam.

You look wild – an illusion – carrion queen ravaged by war in the sweet colored dream of your bedroom.

“Come to lecture me?” you ask.

Your voice drips – rolls like a rapid river over their skins – deep and dark and threatening to yank them under.

“We came to talk,” Steve replies calmly. He walks towards you – his boots squeaking on the wood. “We want to help you.”

“There’s no helping me, Stevie,” you reply – sounding empty. “No more help for me.”

Bucky shudders – he thinks of the way your eyes gleamed when you had torn the man’s head from his shoulders. Something in his foundation turns him over and mutters darkly in its sleep – sending shiver down his spine and filling him with foreboding.

“That can’t be true, sweetheart,” Steve tells you. “We’ve been there from the beginning. We’ve been through it all – “

You snort before turning on him. Your lips peel back from your teeth. “You haven’t been there since the beginning. You know how old I am Rogers? Older than civilizations that have come and gone – older than empires,” you hiss. “You two are one blip on that timeline.”

His mouth parts– he looks like you’ve smacked him straight across the face. But, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t give up.

“Doesn’t matter,” he replies tightly. “We love you until the end – it’s forever for us. We all promised each other that.”

Your face softens, mouth drooping a bit. He steps closer to you and you let him – let his arms wrap around your waist to tug you against him.

“You told me – told us – you’d never had love like this,” he murmurs as he rocks you. “Let us in? Please, baby. Just please tell us what’s wrong?”

You glance at Bucky before looking up at Steve. You stroke his chin, his full bottom lip before shutting your eyes completely as if you might cry.

And then he senses a crack of energy – a whip lash fast invisible tremor that runs through the floor and seems to break you open. You lean into Steve – breasts flush against his chest – hand winding down into his pants.

_No._

And then Steve is grunting – stumbling backwards – Bucky spots a dark, dark stain blooming on his torso. The sharp intake of breath and grunt of pain.

You lift your hand up, spin his knife around your fingers – the glint of silver marred by Steve’s blood.

“I have to go now,” you reply sweetly – gently. Amused.

You move towards the door and Bucky stops you. He grabs you hard by the arms, knocks the knife out of your hands. His anger is now replaced by total and complete fear.

“What?” he practically whimpers. “Why?”

You blink up at him – round, wide eyes like a doll. He wants to shake you viciously – smack your head hard into the wall. Wake you up.

“Oh Bucky,” you croon. “Poor baby Bucky – they should have left you in the snow – left you there to rot.”

You run silky hands over his face, cup his cheek with painful tenderness. “You would have been so much better off... so much better…then what you are now.”

Each word plunges into him as if you were using that knife at his feet. But, he knows this isn’t you. He knows you are possessed by something greater – your mind kidnapped somehow.

It hurts – stings like nothing else but, he won’t believe it.

“Move, Bucky,” you command

“Not a chance, sugar,” he says, metal hand digging hard into your forearm.

Your eyes flood red – darkening the whites – turning them into beams of light. Blinding him.

“Alright,” you sigh.

Bucky barely has enough time before he’s slapped sideways off his feet by a jet of pink glistening energy. It crackles and wraps around his ribs like a fist – shooting him up into the ceiling and then into the wall. The sizzling, static current nearly chokes the life out of him. He hits the ground  - soaked in debris and his tongue bitten through.

His head aches – teeth clicking in his mouth.

You look down at him.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur before slamming your fist into his face.

The world goes black.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is some dub-con/non-con in this chapter

_**Two Weeks Previous** _

You sit near the lake - feeling level with the descending sun. The moon hangs like a promise in the East - its pearly sheen made smoky red. The wine-dark water gently rolls and rocks.

“Did you get my gift?” he murmurs against your neck.

“What gift?” you sigh – exhausted.

“The flowers,” he reveals. “Flowers from Asgard.”

You hum in acknowledgment. “They were slightly morbid.” You pause. “A bit ugly.”

He scoffs.

His hands curl beneath the hem of your dress – skirt the edges of your underwear. He traces your cunt and you turn away from him – squeezing your thighs together. The raw soreness from the night before leaving you sensitive.

“They fucked you didn’t they?” he hisses before grabbing your hair and yanking your head back. He bares his teeth and you appraise him with cool, detached eyes.

You feel off. You feel weird and alone and unsure.

His true nature breaks swiftly through the cracks. He seems to understand that you’ve caught onto him and he releases you. He steps backwards.

“I don’t want them touching you,” he grits out. “You are mine as you have always been. They don’t deserve to touch you.”

You want to laugh at the way he speaks – the pout that has settled across his handsome face.

Tyr. War God. The Blood Thirsty Soldier. The Titan. The Mad Prince.

For the life of you, you cannot emote. It’s as if there is a blockage – something holding you down and back – chaining you to the floorboards of your skull. You cannot think clearly.

“You’re too possessive, Tyr,” you remark cooly. “It’s not a very good look for you.”

His eyes widen and his hands clench tight.

He wants to hit you. It’s apparent in the slight unhinged brightness behind his blue eyes. The amber glimmer in the pupil that reminds you of copper weapons and the forge where he so often ignited his blades.

You should dare him to – press and needle him until he chokes the life out of you.

_Fuck you, my love. Fuck you, you bastard._

“They don’t understand you,” he bites back. “They will always be a passing fancy when you and I are eternal.”

No – it is he who doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand at all.

He cannot see what it is to love them and how it has filled you with such wonder. How you had touched Bucky’s face and felt the raw blood bloom inside his cheek as he blushed when he had looked at you for the first time. The way Steve’s heart pounded desperately in the dark when you allowed him between your legs.

That had been love.  _That_  had been love.

And yet now that love feels muted. It feels like a long ago story – like a book smudged and ruined and you cannot read the words.

You glance up at Tyr – his expression curious as he watches you. The both of them feel so far away and it hurts.

“Let’s work on your powers,” he suggests - apparently no longer angry. “You will remember all that you were soon enough.”

You shrug - the glimmer of pink air pulsing around your shoulders.

He grips your chin and his fingers are hard - unforgiving.

“Amora,” he says.

“Don’t call me that,” you try but, it comes out weary. Thin.

“It’s your name,” he reminds you. “Your birth name.”

You tear your face from his hands and lean against one of the great maple trees. The overwhelming scent of leaves and grassy pollen. Soil between your toes.

_This is wrong. This is wrong. This is all backwards._

Before you can blink, he is near you. His chest pressed tight against your back. He hovers at your shoulder- hot breath in your ear.

“Do you trust me?”

His hands weave into your hair and he begins to sing to you. It’s a soft melody - a lullaby from before. Ancient and beautiful. Frigga had sung it to you so often as a child. Something about a witch in a lake with a sprawling glass castle and a warrior who loved her.

Tyr’s voice is lovely and cooling. You go boneless and let him hold you.

“Do you trust me?” he asks again and it’s as if his croon is a night blooming flower - drinking in the sweet air and sinking into your skin.

You turn toward him and smile. “I trust you,” you say and you really don’t know why.

His gaze is pensive - harsh even. He grips your biceps and presses you against the rough bark.

“Do you now?”

Your heart scampers, the smell of him persuasive, the coldness of his gaze holding you steady.

_Tyr loved you. He loves you now._

And you think I trust you and you are so hard on me but, you are good for me, too. I need your hardness because I am not good for myself and you make me do things I want to do but cannot bring myself to do them but, still - still, there is something in you, something dangerous, something black and I don’t know - I don’t know or remember but, I know it’s there.

You let him kiss you.

******  
**_Present_ **

Your fist burns from Bucky’s skull. Blood crusts your fingertips from the knife you’d used on Steve.

_Oh god._

You stumble backwards, palm pressed to your chest as you listen to the dull beating of your own heart. The lake gently laps at your toes – quiet in comparison to the scream of the alarm that is now rising from the Compound. Lights - one then two then ten - begin to ignite through the windows of the west wing.

Friday probably informed the team. A wave of nausea churns in your belly and you shove the heels of your palms against your eyes.

_Fuck._

The sky is black – the sky is blue – the sky is too smooth. You collapse into the muddy surf, cold water shooting up your ankles and seeping through your tac suit. You fall back against the ground - dirt and leaves and grass entangling in your hair.

Your head is reeling – violently painful. A migraine of sorts that is burning your vision to white dots. You didn’t kill them, though. You would never do that - you had to be careful. You had to keep them away.

 _Bucky. Steve. Bucky. Steve_.

The water strikes you suddenly, a large wave washing right up against you – frigid and strong before dying away all at once as its sucked back with the wind. You blink into the dark – there is nothing there. No cause for waves and why did you do it…why did you do it…and then you think the voices…the voice had told you – had foretold their death and made them precious to you and you could not lose them and so, you did what you did.

“My love.” A voice croons from behind you. “I see that you’ve come as I asked.”

You look up – watch the great mass of him against the shadows. He stands far, far away, his brown mane of hair curling at his shoulders. It comes back to you then – how silky that hair is against your fingers and how wonderful he smells – the fragrance of him like all the old memories of your childhood.

Sweat. Garlands. Cinders.

You feel sour with sick – salt on your lips. Your hands are achingly cold.

“Amora,” he tries again and you stare up at the stars instead. But, there aren’t any stars – only the dissolving light of the moon – pale streams against a canvas of silky violet.

“Why?” you whimper. “Why did I do that?”

He is suddenly next to you, leaning the whole of his powerful body against your torso - the trunk of his leg intertwining with your calves . He pushes your hair up, gently runs his thumb across your cheek.

“Because you wanted to,” he explains.

But, you didn’t want it. You didn’t. You could have killed them and you didn’t and there was the rub - you had kept yourself from dealing the fatal blow.

The water swirls around your ankles - soaks the tight leggings of your uniform. You didn’t mind the cold so much, but you did mind the pain. This pain - brutal and agonizing and internal. The guilt. The experience of cutting the ties that strapped you to Bucky and Steve. That pain is particularly sharp - grinding and burning something fierce inside your gut.

“What are you thinking?” he murmurs and he sounds sincere. He sounds warm and his voice again acts like a balm to that precious ache.

“Do you know how I was born?” you ask as he cups your cheeks.

“Only the legends.”

“Whatever is beyond the realms of gods, whether they were eternals or titans or elements I don’t know but,  they - they pressed me down into the shape of a girl.They squeezed and molded me until I pulsed with life and secrets that even I did not understand. They gave me magic with the blood they mixed in.”

You pause, peering up at Tyr. Self-conscious. “Or that is how Odin told it.”

His eyes soften. A loon cries out from a tree in the distance.

“I’m going to take you away,” he promises. “You will become what you were always meant to be. We will rip all the rest away until you are back to your true self. A god in every sense of the word.”

_A God. A Goddess._

Your head falls back as memories shake your foundation: the secret garden at the palace, the scent of Frigga’s hair, Odin teaching you about the stars and the planets and the realms beyond your understanding. Loki and Thor and secrets rooms full of chanting and lit by the warm, uneasy glow of candles. It had been Tyr  who had always known what you really were - he knew that you were something older and stronger - something that didn’t belong in this midgardian world walking and talking and cuddling in the dark.

When you had been a young girl, your dreams had been as big as the whole universe. Tyr had listened to them intently, his chin in his hands as you told him each and every one. He had gifted you with the star dust, pressing his scruffy cheek to yours as he passed on tales of the world outside Odin’s garden.

You had felt deeply connected to them. The promise of war, the clench of battle and fighting and running amok across the strands of the stars.

Then there were the times where your powers would overtake you or you’d hurt some innocent bystander and that disconsolate gloom would drown you and you felt so alone because you did not understand who you were and you’d run to your garden and hug your knees and cry and cry - too afraid to open your eyes and Tyr would come - he would always come because he’d always know and he’d wrap himself around you and block out the whole rest of the world.

These memories were coming in fast and loose - memories of him and how he had loved you so plainly, so obsessively and you had liked it. You had liked his affections.

_The lagoon is warm and sweet - pale green and white foam deliciously wrapping around your legs. And Tyr is looking at you with wonder, blood flecked in his hair as he removes his clothes and dunks himself beneath the surface._

_Loki had promised to meet you here. You did not expect Tyr and you are naked and you feel like your whole body is screaming for him._

_Then he is there, thick muscled arms circling your waist as he lifts you to his chest and stares - stares with round blue eyes that continue to burn like an eternal forge. The flames licking red-orange.in the pupil._

_“Gods,” he says. “You are the most beautiful thing.”_

_You close your eyes - present your face to the sky. The damp hot press of his stubbly cheek against your chest, his fingertips digging into your waist. “Just the most beautiful thing.”_

_He drops you down so, that now he can look down at you. He cups your chin, runs another palm down your face. “Just mine?”_

_“Yes.”_

_He crushes the side of his face against your skull, his wet mouth slides against your ear. He kisses you urgently: one eyelid, then the other, your cheeks, your lips._

_“Amora,” he sighs and it is such a wonder to feel like a woman - to have him make you feel like a gift._

The cold awakens you and you are back to the night and Tyr hovering over you and the alarm screaming but, it’s all so dulled. It is gone and away and you feel warm and lovely.

“Did you make me remember?” you whisper. “Did you make me remember that?”

“Remember what?” he grins and you know he’s lying. He’s playing dumb.

He lifts you quickly, your face sinking into the cotton of his t-shirt. The alarm is still ringing and you can’t quite remember why it was ringing to begin with.

“Time to go,” he tells you.

 ******  
Steve gingerly touches the gauzy bandage on his belly. The wound is deep but, hardly fatal.

A practiced hit. You weren’t intending to do anything but, stun him.

The bruise on Bucky’s forehead shines purple and yellow beneath the white lights of the conference room. His knuckles are pressed hard into the table as he hovers over a surplus of maps: old school, skittering black, red and blue lines criss-crossed over thin paper.  

Tony and Bruce are already working tirelessly in the next room – gathering every piece of information they can in regards to Hydra, Duke Ellison, and the rest of the lot.

Steve wonders if they’ll inevitably stumble upon their path of dead bodies – their pseudo-terrorist attacks on Hydra when you were supposedly dead and gone.

He kind of hopes they do.

“I knew something was wrong with her,” Thor mutters under his breath.

Steve observes him from his seat – watches the blue eyes hopelessly scan the files and reports and video footage as they look for you.

How could he have been so stupid?

Thor worshiped you in every sense of the word. Protected you. Loved you.

Why was it so shocking for that love to have been anything but, platonic?

The two of you had been drawn to one another. You fought together, shared lifetimes together – clung to the other when the world upended for you. And yet - he still cannot imagine Thor taking you.

The idea of the god fucking you – pushing himself up and into you as you keen for him makes him nauseous. He bites his lip and shakes his head.

Now, was not the time to be jealous.

After he had crawled over to Bucky and gotten him conscious, there had been no hesitation.They knew, in their guts, they knew that this had been Tyr. You were being brain-washed, manipulated – broken down and stripped bare. They knew you and this wasn’t you.

Tony  jogs inside the room – nearly tripping over an entire case of files that had been tossed to the side.

“Uh clean that, you piggies,” he snaps before glancing at Steve. “We found something.”

Steve sits up – stretches his back. He’s been tense all day – on the edge of his seat. He’s in fear – he cannot lose you again. Not again.

“What is it?” Bucky asks. He’s barely said a word since you disappeared.

Tony pulls down one of the digital screens and throws up  some footage.

“This was taken by the lake a few weeks ago before our girl went all psycho Carrie on us,” he explains.

“You film the lake?” Steve asks.

The amount of times Bucky and he have fucked you by, near and in the lake are numerous. He gulps audibly as Bucky’s face lights up red with understanding.

“Obviously,” Tony says. “And no I don’t check the footage on a daily basis, you pervs.

“Then what is it?”

“Getting to that,” he huffs before zooming in on a video of two figures.

Steve exhales - recognizing you immediately. It’s no question who the other is - the gait, the stature, the dark hair. You seem to be in some sort of intimate conversation, faces pressed close, his hands all over you.

He bites back a growl, his mouth going parched.

“It seems our little missy has been getting many a visit by the bastard in question.”

“He’s got her under some sort of spell,” Bucky says. “She’s been acting strange for weeks. Completely out of it. She only seemed to be all there during - “ He goes quiet and Tony arches an eyebrow.

“Yes we are fully aware how your sexual prowess can make even the quietest girls scream, Barnes,” he delivers dryly.

Bucky glares at him but, his blush only deepens.

“How many times has he been caught on video?” Steve asks.

“Six or seven,” Tony replies. “He must have discovered the cameras because he blasted them last night. We got no footage of what direction she went.”

“Or he’s always known they were there,” Thor guesses.

Steve turns to him. “What?”

“He’s a God, Rogers,” Thor explains. “I’m sure he only allowed those cameras to catch him because he wanted those cameras to catch him. He’s rubbing it in. He wants you and Barnes to see him with her.”

“I’m sure he wants you to see her with him, too,” Bucky says under his breath.

“Pardon?” Thor turns to him, his eyes narrowing.

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve interrupts. “This isn’t her and I refuse to sit here and just let him take her.”

“And you’re positive that it’s ideal for you to go after her, Steve?” A voice speaks up from behind them.

Steve whirls around to see Sam leaning up against the door. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Sam puts his hands up defensively as he steps into the room. “I just meant that she nearly killed the both of you. It would be extremely dangerous for you to run into this situation with your head not on straight. She makes you and Barnes kind of crazy if you haven’t already noticed.”

Steve’s mouth parts, his feet shifting from one to the next.

_Sam must know. He must know all about their murder mission years back. The revenge of it turning their blood wild._

“All I’m saying is that guy is seriously fucking with her - making her not see things clearly. She killed those terrorists and didn’t even blink. We know how powerful she is, man. We know she’s not okay. I don’t think it’s safe for either you or Barnes to be in on this.”

Bucky snorts and Sam glares at him. “Oh yeah Barnes, I know how great you are at self-preservation.”

He turns back to Steve. “I’m trying to be your friend right now. Your brother on this. We will get her back but, I think you need to send the rest of us. I don’t think she just casually missed your vital organs on accident. She’s protecting you from him because she knows he will destroy you without hesitation.”

Steve had guessed as much and, of course, his love for you blossoms even thicker. Your expression had been so sad when you had twisted the knife in his gut. Beautiful and sad all at once.

Sam reaches for his shoulder and he backs away.

He’s not ready for touch. This is all too fresh, building up and in his chest and climbing up his throat and shockingly burning behind his eyes. This fucking hurts and he desperately wants to hit something. He wants to grab at the world and shake it and ask why? Why the fuck did it have to be her again?

Heat wells up in his belly and his vision blurs. He cannot cry now. He cannot. The whole picture of them: Bucky and Thor and Tony and Sam turns to running colors. Blurred and melting. Tears on his face and he feels ill.

“Fuck,” he says but, it comes out like a sob and he cannot fall apart today but,  he’s already hitting the ground and Sam is there gripping his shoulders as he gulps for air.

“Hey, man,” Sam assures him. “Hey, it’s okay. We will get her back. We’ve got this.”

Steve had never thought of himself as all that romantic. He never thought of himself as sensitive. He was the guy to put himself on the line. He was the guy to put every civilian and loved one before himself. He didn’t crumble over things like this - he just figured it out. He just moved forward with the next line of logic.

But, you. You dismantle him. He has never felt like this before and it’s because it is all too familiar. It brings him back to the night you had been kidnapped. The shattered glass like ice on the common room floor, the snow in his boots as he found the dismal little cabin and then inside -  _inside_  - he would never get over seeing you weeping in pain, blood spurting from your mouth and onto him.

He’d never get over it.

Your death had been an ache in his marrow - the whole world purged of light and sound. There had been a space inside him that had left him hollow and keening for the lack of you. The progress he made - the people he had to be there for - had no dimension without the taste of you on his mouth or the whisper of you in the back of his mind.

He stands quickly, wipes at his eyes as the others remain silent.

There is nothing new about this. This is an old story. Lovers lost to each other - separated by death and circumstance. He’s going to change it, though. That ending - ancient and durable as it is - will not suffice this time around.

Steve is a champion - he has been for years. He knows how to play this game. Tyr is only a villain in a long line of villains he has already faced.

He would go to hell and back for you. He would go to the ends of the earth and beyond that.

He looks at Sam - looks hard at him and Sam already understands.

There is no question who will retrieve you.

 ******  
You don’t quite remember the journey to Tyr’s home.

They had stopped in Scotland - a gorgeous glen that was gray and melancholy and softly beautiful. Damp and green and very northern.

The din from before had dispersed. The air cleared your head.

He continued to hold you, to press your face to his and beneath all the startling guilt that was threatening to consume you - you asked him what you needed to.

“Am I all you want?”

He peers down at you, the collar of his coat high up around his jaw. The wind ruffling his curling mass of dark hair.

“Yes, of course,” he replies as if it is obvious. “There is only you.”

You bite your lip. “And you’ll leave them alone? You’ll leave the world alone?”

He looks taken aback. His expression puckers. Slippery - as if perhaps searching for the loophole.

“Tyr?” you urge.

He sighs, tightening his arms around your waist.

“For you…yes.”

You nod.

 ******  
He takes you to Greece. His home a white adobe structure with an azure roof that overlooks the turquoise Mediterranean.

The sea sparkles and you press your nose into the deep pink bougainvillea that spills from the shutters in a hail of petals. He brings you orchids and daffodils, crocus the color of bruises. He does not bring you Asgardian flowers anymore.

Your days and nights are seamless. No clocks or phones that work.

He disappears for hours and yet his eyes are still on you. You can feel them in the birds and the command of the wind. He is there. Always - he is there.

You take to walking along the shore - the heels of your feet sliding over sharp stone. You would bleed if you were mortal. The bay here is deserted. The air is crisp with salt and moss and rocks. One day and without thinking, you slip out of your clothes and step into the water. Your nipples pucker instantly and you wade out into the deep.

You swim for hours until you feel cold and numb. There is nothing in you that wants to go back to the house, so you find a low, flat rock and stretch naked on it. You lift your body to the high, hot sun.

You like sleeping in near the ocean- free and bare beneath the stars. You feel as if you are among the oldest parts of this world - the sand and the sea.

You sleep for days.

******  
_The beach. The beach in the Grenadines and mother of pearl sand frosting your skin. Pink. Nearly pink and smoke gray bark palm trees and cyan ocean._

_Your eyes drift open and Bucky is staring at you - his long hair pulled away from his face and a lopsided smile._

_“You should have woken me,” you tell him._

_“I was enjoying the view,” he says as his gaze lingers on your naked form._

_You grin, running your fingers over your collarbone, the hollow of your throat and down, down the valley between your breasts only to pause right above the mound of your sex._

_“Baby,’ he says, voice strangled._

_“I want you,” you say._

_“Do you?”_

_You press two fingers into the moist slit between your thigh and close your eyes._

_“Jesus, sweetheart,” he says._

_“Not my pantheon,” you tease as you begin a slow rhythm. You move one hand up your breast, tug at your nipple. You dig your fingers deeper into your cunt, arch against the sand as you come._

_Bucky growls - then a tiny hitch caught up in his chest as he reaches for you. His expression rapt._

_“Of course,” he says, your fingers slide into his swim suit to grip his cock. He groans. “Of course, you’re the only religion I believe in.”_

_“Sucker,” you tease - still tingling with faded orgasm._

_“Kiss me,” he begs and you do._

“Dreaming of something nice?”

The voice is harsh, gritty and you open your eyes to Tyr staring down at you - his expression unreadable.

“I’m not dreaming about anything,” you tell him.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he snaps.

You shrug, lifting yourself off the bed. The cotton of your nightgown is thin and itchy. He must have moved you from the stone down by the sea.

“When did you get back?”

“An hour ago. I let you sleep.”

You nod before opening a window - allowing the air to decompress the heat and tension that is overwhelming your bedroom.

“You were dreaming of them,” he accuses. “You still think of them.”

“Why does it matter” you say. Tired. “I left them.”

“Amora,” he warns and you turn back to look at him.

It comes out of nowhere. His fist slams down across your cheek and you stumble backwards. The  strength of him is always surprising. You taste blood on your lip and you touch your mouth.

He lunges at you, his hands gripping your arms as he holds you there. His powerful fingers marking and stinging as he digs them deep.

“You know what I’ve come to realize? There is a terrible inwardness to you,” he says. “You are so lovely. So lovely and then I look at your eyes and there is..there is nothing there. I don’t see anything all. It’s all dark. I cannot…I cannot read you. I cannot see the truth there.”

“I’m sorry,” you say. Your belly is hollow. Your ear is still ringing from his punch and his voice is distant.

He stares at you - stares hard. He searches your eyes before something in his expression changes.

He bends down to kiss you like a bird coming to the edge of their bath. The smell of him animal-like - warm and strange and musky. His lips cover yours, his fingers travel up your arms to slip around your neck, thumb at your jaw and then your cheeks and you try - try desperately - to flee back into yourself, to lock yourself away from this.

He kisses you harder and flame spreads in your core. You want to say no. You want to refuse him but, he is catching you off guard. The coppery taste of your own blood in his mouth as he holds you upright, cradling you to him. He is tender. He is so tender now and you are practically swooning with it.

“Don’t you remember how it used to be? With us?” he marvels. “I haven’t forced you. I’ve held myself back but, you know how I love you. You want this.”

His eyes glisten and a voice in your head starts to whisper like a wicked spirit - you love this man. You love him. When he looks at you like this it is obvious he is trying for you and you value that hurt he shows because he didn’t mean it. He didn’t. You cannot disappoint him. You can’t.

But, he has hurt you. He had tortured you and then made you cough blood all over Steve….Steve oh Steve.

You tear yourself away and wrap your arms around your belly.

“You killed me,” you sob. “How can I trust you when you killed me?”

“No, no darling! I would never hurt you again,” he pleads. “What would be my victory in that?”

“You have hurt me,” you whisper. “So badly. The poison – it, it burned, it tore me up.”

He bites his lips – looking slightly ashamed. “I know,” he whispers, apologetic. “I – I had to do it, it was all part of the plan. You were to be reborn and I had to get you away from them.”

He touches your wrist, drags you to him. He is speaking in your ear again - cooing pleasant words and confessions and old memories.

The words flow out of him and make you  ache. He kisses you again, and again as his thumbs press into your throat. You find that your hands have traveled up his belly to come to his chest, fingers clinging to him desperately.

Slick between your thighs - the tender clench of your core when the first touch of arousal has knitted its way inside you. More surrender.

You were giving yourself to him.

And suddenly you are lying on the cold floor and he is ripping your cotton nightgown in half - his hair falling silky over your forehead. The damp, soft curls covering his chest brush your nipples. You are drifting and dizzy and full of sweet and powerful sensations, sensations like the scent of him and the powerful stride of his cock that is somehow now inside you, the pumping against you that feel so natural, so thorough and so so good.

“All you need to remember is that you are alive and with me,” he grunts into your hair. He touches your arms, brazen in the way he grips you. “I am inside you.” His voice dips low. “There will only ever be us now.”

Something tight and wound and tense rings at the back of your head.

_This is wrong. This is wrong._

The taste of him strange and dusty – breaking apart upon your tongue. He had sunk his fingers into your brain – whipped it up until you were now spreading your legs for him and letting him devour you.

Over his muscular shoulder, you watch the twilight come in - thick and shining in the candlelit room - the entire world appearing mysterious and uncertain.

He lifts himself up to spread you wide and take you harder, to make it hurt just a bit because he remembers how you had liked that. You turn your head away and he grips your chin to twist your face back to his. He plunges his tongue into your mouth, swallows your refusal down.

“You’re mine,” he growls - his face convulsing - angry, monstrous. All the genteless gone.

You close your eyes. The wind smells like corpses and flowers.

**  
Bucky jogs into the room - nearly knocking over the countless piles of notes on Steve’s desk. Steve doesn’t look up.

“What is it, Buck?”

“We’ve found her,” he says excitedly. Steve’s head shoots up.

“Where?”

“Thor’s tracked him and - well, you really won’t believe this, but he’s at some isolated cottage in Patras.”

Steve is startled. He furrows his brow.

“The same house?”

“No,” Bucky says hurriedly. “That one was destroyed when we thought we killed the asshole the first time. It’s close to the same location, though.”

“Why the fuck would he have take her someplace you and I have already been?”

“He’s either a complete idiot or he didn’t expect us to check out a place we thought was ashes -”

“ _Or_ ,” Steve interrupts him. “He wants us to find them.”

Bucky cocks an eyebrow and then realization sets into his face.

A smirk cold and grim splashes across his features. “He wants to violently kill us in front of her.”

“Presumably.”

Bucky’s expression grows even colder - darker. Ice chipping at his eyes.  _Soldat_ breathes back at him as Steve feels his own thirst for blood slip between his ribs.

“This will be fun,” Bucky chuckles darkly - eager with it.

“Call the team,” Steve says as he tosses his notes to the side.

**


End file.
